THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


SONQS 

OF  THE 

SAHKOHNAGAS 


BY 

HUGH  DEVERON 


THE 

Hbbey  press 

PUBLISHERS 

114 
FIFTH    AVENUE 

Xon&on  NEW  YORK  Montreal 


Copyright,  1902, 

by 
THE 

Bbbeg  presa 


CONTENTS. 


AGE 

SONGS  OF  THE  SAHKOHNAQAS. 

1.  The  Legend  of  Herbert's  Spring 7 

2.  My  Pearl  of  Pacolet 16 

3.  The  Swannanoa  River. 21 

4.  Blue  Eyes  of  Nantahayleh 24 

5.  The  Wine  Spring 27 

6.  The  Siren  of  Sachem's  Head 30 

7.  From  Billow  to  Brook 34 

8.  The  Snowdrop  Maidens 27 

9.  The  Songs  that  Need  no  Words 39 

10.  The  Oracles  of  May 41 

11.  The  Autumnal  Harlequin 42 

12.  AColdSnap 45 

13.  Grass  of  Parnassus 47 

14.  Witch  Hazel 52 

15.  Trailing  Arbutus 55 

16.  To  a  Humming-Bird 57 

17.  A  Sylvan  Symphony 59 

FLORIDA  FANCIES. 

18.  Winter  Wooings 62 

19.  Water  Bewitched 64 

20.  The  Cherokee  Rose 67 

21.  To  Alma  in  April 69 

22.  The  Naughty  Nixie 73 

23.  The  Heavens  Below 75 

24.  The  Romance  of  the  Roses 76 

25.  Beau  Butterfly 78 

26.  With  a  Fan  to  Fickle  Fanny 82 

3 


904264 


4  Contents. 

27.  Virtue  Unrewarded 86 

28.  Fickle  Fifteen 88 

29.  To  a  Juvenile  Juliette 90 

30.  Wrinkles  versus  Roses 93 

GOLDEN  TIDE. 

31.  The  Sage  of  Sunny-Side. 95 

32.  Saint  Sunny-Heart's  Shrine 97 

33.  Light-Heart  Harry 101 

34.  A  Lover  of  "  Good  Things  " 105 

35.  To  Silenus 108 

36.  The  Jolly  old  King  of  Yvetot Ill 

37.  The  Watering  of  the  Shamrock 116 

38.  True  Love  Runs  Always  Smoothly , 119 

39.  The  Squire's  Quest 123 

40.  Lachrymse  Christi 126 

41.  Love  and  Folly 129 

42.  To  Maecenas 132 

43.  The  Tippler's  Test 136 

ROSES  AND  RUE. 

44.  Love's  Starlit  Noon 140 

45.  That  Sweet  Word  "  Ours  ! " 142 

46.  Crowned  Slaves 147 

47.  Lovers'  Quarrels 148 

48.  Epiphytes 150 

49.  Dark  Eyes  and  Hours 151 

50.  More  Prudish  than  Prudent 152 

51.  Immortelles 153 

52.  Prim-rose 155 

53.  Brown  Eyes  and  Blue 156 

54.  Love's  Merry  War 159 

55.  Love  and  Strife 160 

56.  A  Puzzle  in  Petticoats -. 163 

57.  The  Violet's  Appeal 167 


Contents.  5 

58.  Limited  Liabilities 169 

59.  To  Brunetta 173 

60.  Cupid  in  Chains 176 

THE  GLOAMING. 

61.  Love  Hopeless 180 

62.  Love  and  Jealousy 182 

63.  Impatient 186 

64.  A  Contented  Cynic 189 

65.  Sold  Out 191 

66.  Thorns  of  Roses 194 

67.  Hearts  Crucified 196 

68.  To  Linette 197 

69.  No  Admittance 200 

70.  Two  of  a  Kind 201 

71.  A  Thievish  Grace  203 

72.  A  Song  of  Silence 206 

73.  Oblivion 209 

74.  April  and  December 211 

GLEANINGS. 

75.  Mansour  the  Miser 214 

76.  Harold  Fair-Hair 221 

77.  The  Blossom's  Boast 223 

78.  The  Shabby  Genteel 225 

79.  The  Four  Heralds  of  Spring 228 

80.  The  Gipsy's  Guess 232 

81.  The  Vase  and  the  Virtuoso 234 

82.  Christmas  after  War 236 

83.  The  Sea's  Smiles  and  Sighs 239 

84.  The  Tempest's  Test 241 

85.  The  "  Swallow's  Nest " 242 

86.  The  New  World..  .  244 


SONGS  OF  THE  SAHKOHNAGAS. 


Xe0ent>  ot  Iberbert's  Spring.* 

WHERE  Kullasaja's  crystal  founts  first  leap, 
Southward  not  far  stands  fair  Satula's  steep, 
Thence  northeast,  lo! — a  mountain  Monarch 

frowns, 
His  cres.t  still  green,  though  russet  grays  and 

browns 

And  purpling  shadows  touch  the  giddy  heights, 
Where  Isundayga's  precipices  catch  the  lights 
Of  saffron  dawns. 

Our  ridgy  realm  unrolled 
Shows  not  one  other  summit — half  as  bold 

*  Kullasaja  and  Satoola,  near  Highlands,  Maeon  Co.; 
Isundayga,  the  grand  precipice  of  White-Sides  Mt.; 
Yonahlossee,  the  Grandfather  Mt.  ;  Salola  is  Sugar  Loaf 
near  Hendersonville,  No.  Car.  ;  Sahkohnagas,  the  great 
Blue  Ridge  range  ;  Tenniseeta  is  Little  Tennessee 
River  ;  Toxaway  is  Great  Hog  Back  near  Sapphire  ;  and 
Cashiers  Valley  lies  west  of  Chimney  Top  (Kayoo 
ianta). 


8  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

•As  this    "  Old    Stonewall."     Facing    eas.t — it 

towers 
Above  Chatooga's  forestry  and  Cashier's  fields 

of  flowers. 

In  all  the  leafy  Over  Hills  of  Ottaray, 
Not  one  to  ma.tch  with   Isundayga  grim  and 

gray  :— 

Not  Linville's  Towers,  not  the  cliffs  of  Doe, — • 
Nor  where  the  Sachem's  Head  sees  fair  Saluda 

far  below ; — 

Not  the  bold  cliffs  that  cradle  Congaree 
That  'neath  Salola's  crags  flows  southward  to 

the  sea; 

Not  Yonahlossee,  though  his  rocky  crown 
Sends  far  Watauga's  waters  foaming  down 
In   dark   ravines,   where   clustering   pink    and 

white, 
The  rhododendron    blooms    star    all  the  leafy 

night  ;— 
Nor  yet  sharp  Kayoolanta,  whose  bold  belfry 

flings 
Its  morning  shadows  on  fair  Cashier's  springs. 

Eastward  the  billowy  ridges  of  blue  Toxaway, 
That  hides  a  "  Sapphire  "  in  his  heart  to-day, 
And  laves  his  feet  in  lakelets  that  declare 


The  Legend  ot  Herbert's  Spring.         9 

The  Heaven's  glory  ever  mirored  there ; 
Westward  the    Nantahaylehs,    and    the    near 

Cowees 

That  toss  their  summits  like  tumultuous  seas; 
Between  these  two, — Sahkohnaga's*  blue  walls 
Hearkening  the  married  murmurs  of  Chatoo 

ga's  falls, 

Where  Isundayga's  sovereign  summit  stands, 
Rock-crested  Monarch  of  these  Leafy  Lands. 
Here  in  a  glen,  where  foliage — flower  and  fern 
Roof  with  tints — green  or  gay — the  bickering 

burn, 
Hides  Herbert's  Spring,  whose  waters  westward 

flow 

To  where  the  Tenniseeta,  in  green  vales  below, 
Bears  generous  tribute — not  lean  stinted  alms — 
To  .that  far  West — where  flows  the  stream  of 

Palms, 

Whose  waters,  widening  slowly  to  deep  Seas 
Belt  with  their  billows  all  the  Antilles. 

The  wanderer  who  passes  here  by  chance, 
Hunter  or  Trapper,  ere  he  sees  the  glance 
Of  these  clear  waters!,  or  their  rippling  flow, 
Hears   in   these   sylvan   wilds  a    Fairy   Bugle 
blow. 


io  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Sweet  as  the  echoes  of  remembered  song 
Ere  love  and  loss  had  tangled  right  and  wrong, 
The  ringing  notes — now  distant  and  now  near — 
Like  lullabies  of  childhood  charm  ,the  listening 

ear, 

Like  songs  of  Sirens  on  the  silvering  seas, 
Allure  him  step  by    step    through    thickening 

trees, — 

Over  the  ridges,  down  the  dark  ravines,- 
From  crest  ,to  crest, — until  he  wearied  leans 
Above  a  Fountain's  brink;  and  in  its  depths — 

behold! 
A  New  World  mirrored. 

Fairer  skies  unrolled, 

Bosomed  like  Goddesses  blue  mountains  show, 
And  valleys — blossom  braided — sleep  below 
Where  winding  rivers — that  a  forest  girds — 
Dance  to  the  music  of  a  thousand  birds. 
A  thousand  pictured  scenes  revolving  pass 
Across  its  bosom ;  and  in  this  clear  glass — 
This  Magic  Mirror,  whose  reflections  bring 
Even  to  Winter  frosts  the  flowers  of  fadeless 

Spring,— 

Lo!  should  he  love — a  fairer  face  there  peeps 
From    out    the    darkness    of    these    dimpled 

deeps ; — 


The  Legend  of  Herbert's  Spring.       n 

A  face  so  fair,  with  lips  of  rose,  and  eyes>, 

So  wonderful,  tha,t  every  old  love  dies, 

And  this  new  passion  thrills  him  through  and 

through. 

Recalls  no  longer  Home,  or  those  he  knew, 
His  past  life  fading  like  forgotten  dreams; 
The    wider    World,    and    all    its    cares    and 

schemes — 

Not  blur'd — but  blotted  out;  no  Yesterday, 
To-morrow  dimly  visioned,  but  Hope's  sway 
To-day  triumphant;  and  ,the  Present's  Wall 
Prisons  his  soul. 

He  lives  the  thrall 
Of  these  bewitching    waters,    and    their  spells 

shall  hold 
For  seven  sweet  years  of  dulcet  dreamings,  that 

though  false 
Yet  bring  no  tears  or  tempests.     Hope  never 

halts, 
And  Doubt  lies  dead. 

So  long,  through  Winter's  cold 
And   Summer's  heat,   in  these  wild  woods  he 

roves, 

Climbs  the  bold  crests  and  threads  the  embow 
ered  groves, 


12  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Seeking  this  "  Loltee  "  of  the  Highlands,  this 

fair  witch 
Who  now  the  Fountain  holds — and  now  some 

rocky  niche. 

Ever  so  soft  and  sweet,  now  near — now  far, 
She  calls  to  him  from  summits  gray, — from 

cliff  or  scar ; 

Or,  hidden  shyly  in  June's  leafy  bowers, 
Whispers  him  hope  from  the  unfolding  flowers ; 
Woos  him  with  glances  from  the  cascade's  snow, 
Beckoning  with  waving  hands  where  blossoms 

blow, 

Sings  him  glad  songs  tha.t  make  his  pulses  leap, 
And  when  night  darkens  kissed  his  eyes  to  sleep. 

Each    night    he    dreams    her    rosy    lips    close 

pressed, 

Each  morn  renews  the  eager,  endless  quest; 
Yet,  not  unhappy,  for  this  witching  draught, 
If  only  once  in  all  the  seven  years  deeply 

quaffed, 

Fires  his  blood  with  such  unwonted  life — 
Hope  never  fails  him,  through  the  stress  and 

strife 

Of  daily  struggles  with  the  wilderness. 
The  Winter's  snow  fades  fast  before  one  melting 

kiss 


The  Legend  of  Herbert's  Spring.       13 

Laid  on  his  lips  in  slumber;  and  the  summer 

seems 

A  golden  Eden,  where — half  lost  in  dreams — 
He  climbs  blue  peaks,  hearing  her  wooing  calls 
In  the  warm  breath  of  winds  and  songs  of  water 
falls. 

In  every  woodland  there  are  bridal  bowers, 
Her  flying  footsteps  bend  the  fern,  and  in  fair 

flowers 
He  finds  the  fragrance  of  her  breath,  and  in  the 

skies 
Sees  the  soft  azure  of  her  glorious  eyes. 


So  seven  years  the  Wanderer  ever  roves 

From  crest  to  crest, — 

Through  all  the  glens  and  groves; 

Day  after  day  climbs  leafy  spurs  and  lifted 

spires ; 

His  heart  beats  high,  his  footstep  never  tires. 
Confiding,  as  a  child,  he  knows  no  sorrow, 
For  if  To-day  brings  failure — there's   a   fair 

To-morrow ; 
And  this  fond  Witch,  who  kissed  his  lips  last 

night, 
Shall  break  like  morning  on  his  dazzled  sight, 


14  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

In  her  white  arms  shall  hold  him  fast,  and  melt 
His  soul  with  blisses  mortals  never  felt. 


Of  his  Dead  Past  no  faintest  whisper  stirs ; 
Couched  on  dark  crags  benea.th  the  dusk  of  firs, 
He  sees  afar  the  valleys  once  his  Home, 
Yet  now  recalls  no  paths  he  used  to  roam ; 
Old     Loves — old     Losses — leave     no     faintest 

mark ; 

Cares  only  for  this  luring  Loltee's  fickle  kiss, 
And  finds  in  these  bewitching  dreams  a  dearer 

bliss 

Than  ever  mortal  maiden's  fond  rendition 
That  ripened  into  full  fruition. 

So  seven  years  of  dulcet,  dazzling  dreams, 
Of  wanderings  by  the  banks  of  lapsing  streams 
And  on  .the  brows  of  lifted  peaks : — then  slum 
ber  deep 
For  seven  days,  when  slow  the  circling  shadows 

creep, 
And    not    one    star — not    one    stray    sunbeam 

brings 

To  the  lost  soul  the  shape  of  Earthly  things. 
Then  an  awakening,  slow  and  soft  as>when 
On  long  numbed  wits  fair  Reason  dawns  again ; 


The  Legend  of  Herbert's  Spring.       15 

And  one  by  one,  old  loves,  and  older  hopes 
Return  like  penitents ;  and  strengthening  Mem 
ory  gropes 

Her  way  back  lamely, — step  by  step,  and  sees 
At    last    the    old    landmarks,    hears    forgotten 

pleas. 
The  hearthstone  flames   again,  whisper  sealed 

lips, 

Hearts1    beat    once    more — long    lost    in    dark 
eclipse. 

Then   the   lost   Wanderer  —  wondering — ;turns 

slowly  back 
To  search  through  forest  mazes  for  the  long  lost 

track ; 
Through  cloud  and  sunshine, — half  in  joy — 

half  tears, — 

Faces  once  more  the  long  forgotten  years, 
And  finds  perhaps  in  some  fond  maiden's  arms 
S.till  lures  to  win  him  from  the  rosy  charms 
Of  that   fair   Witch,   whose  wooing,   winsome 

face, — 
Whose  flowery  lips — whose  magic — and  whose 

grace, 
Whatever   life   brings, — of   sunny   joy   or   sad 

regret, — 
His  dreaming  soul  shall  never  quite  forget! 


1 6          Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


/IDs  pearl  of  pacolett  I 

by  pebbly  Pacolett  where  the  Kalmias 
cluster, 

And  the  cascade's  melting  mists  catch  the  rain 
bow's  luster, 

Sits  a  dainty  mountain  maiden — curtained 
close  by  leaves-, 

By  the  shadows  half-way  hidden  that  the  Rho 
dodendron  weaves. 

Round  about  her  tresses  a  golden  halo  swims, 
Whiter  than  the  lily  buds  are  her  lissome  limbs, 
Bluer  than  the  gentian  tips  gleam  her  sunny 

eyes, 
Far  too  rosy  are  her  lips  e'er  to  mate  wi.th  sighs. 

There  she  sits  and  suns  herself  in  an  amorous 

ray 
That  hath  wandered  to  .these  depths  from  the 

upper  day; 

And  this  rosy  harbinger  of  love's  warmer  glow 
Kisses  first  her  dimpled  cheeks,  then — her  bos* 

om's  snow. 


My  Pearl  of  Pacolett.  17 

Soft  the  sunlight  touches  her  with  a  wand  of 

gold, 
Whilst    the    breezes    whisper    shyly    tales    the 

flowers  told; 
And  she  first  looks  up  and  laughs,  .then  looks 

down  and  sighs : 
Something  learned  of  late  hy  heart  makes  her 

feel — so  wise. 

Far  too  wise  for  flippancies,  far  too  glad  for 
tears, 

Whilst  she  numbers  solemnly — all  her  Sixteen 
years ; 

Counts  the  flowery  Aprils  over  since  those  ear 
lier  Springs 

When  Life's  beckoning  blisses  lent  her  light 
heart  errant  wings. 

Thus  she  sits  and  memories  scarcely  twelve- 
hours'  old 

Kound  about  her  budding  breas.ts  like  glad  arms 
enfold ; 

And  she  hears  the  murmurings  soft  of  the  busy 
breeze 

Whispering  loving  prophecies  to  the  listening 

trees. 
2 


i8  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Purest  Pearl  of  Pacolett,  \vha.t  is   then  your 

dream  ? 
Down  the  tides  that  foam  and  fret,  borne  upon 

the  stream, 

Lo !  the  Fairy  of  the  Falls,  in  a  white  canoe, 
Glides   above   the   milky   mists — beckoning  to 

you. 

He  crowns  your  curls  with  Kalmias  paler  than 
your  cheek, 

.With  cold  kisses  makes  you  dumb — though  you 
fain  would  speak ; 

Veils  with  jealous  mists  your  charms,  lays  your 
dainty  limbs 

On  a  couch  in  gro.tto  lonely  that  eternal  dark 
ness  dims. 


Bears  you  from  these  sunny  skies  to  the  depths 

below, 
And  your  bosom's  blossoms  turn  cold  and  white 

as  snow ; 
Your  sweet  lips  forget  to  laugh,  and  your  heart 

to  dream : 
Lo!  your  bridal  bed  a  bier — shadowed  by  .ths 

stream 


My  Pearl  of  Pacolett.  19 

Then  the  Fairy  of  the  Falls  lays  his  finger  tips 
Lightly  on  the  fading  petals  of  your  flower-like 

lips.; 

Like  a  lily  maiden  sinking  in  a  marble  sleep, 
Soft  and  silent  there  you  lie,  whils.t  your  lovers 

weep. 

Nay!  my  Pearl  of  Pacolett,  not  all  the  Fairy 

Kings, 
Though  they  led  their  legions  onward  waving 

rainbow'd  wings, 
Though  they  launched  the  leaping  thunder  from 

Heaven's  darkening  dome, 
Sweetest,  should  not  whelm  you  under  flash  of 

fire  and  foam. 


a  mist-made  shadow  gliding  through  the 

treacherous  gloom 
Lays  warm  lips  persuasive  on  your  cheek's  re 

turning  bloom, 
A.nd  ,the  arms  that  hold  you  boldly  —  bear  you 

to  no  bier  :  — 
Hark  !  the  breezes  whisper  stories  that  the  blos 

soms  blush  to  hear. 

Hide  your  ripening  roses,  sweetest,  close  within 
my  arms  ; 


2O  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Love  alone,  Our  Lord,  uncloses  here  the  casket 

of  your  charms; 
Whilst  the  snowy  foam  is  falling,  and  the  milky 

mist  upcurls, 
In    the    Summer's    starlit    gloaming — I    have 

found  my  Pearl  of  Pearls. 

Roofed  by  Rhododendron  blooms,  fenced  about 

with  flowers, 
Here  for  my  heart's  lady-love  Cupid  weaves  his 

bowers ; 
And  whilst  mists  are  rising  softly  where  the 

streamlets  fret, 

Love  unlock&  thy  heart's  rich  casket,  Pearl  of 
Pacolett. 


The  Swaimanoa  River,  No.  Ca.      21 


Swannanoa  1Rix>er,  IRo.  Ca. 

AAJR  N"ymph,  whose  mossy  cradle  lies, 

By  dusky  hemlocks  hidden, 
Near  rocky  crests  that  court  the  skies, 

Yet  not  by  storms  unchidden ; — 
Could  Fancy  weave  on  Fairy  looms 

Such  loveliness  as  dowers 
The  Mountain  Ivy's  dimpled  blooms, — 

The  Laurel's  freckled  flowers? 

And  these  are  but  ,thy  birthday  gifts, 

E'er  yet  beneath  the  bracken 
The  foam-flakes,  white  as  Winter's  drifts, 

Their  hurrying  currents  slacken 
To  slower  pace,  as  maidens  do, 

Who  will  not  fly — though  fearing; 
And  thou  beginst  to  linger,  too, 

By  cabin  and  by  clearing. 

Above,  from  many  a  crag  and  scarp 
Thy  torrents  leaped  in  laughter ; 
Soft  as  some  far  ^Eolian  harp — 


22  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

One  heard  sweet  echoings  after; 

And  where  the  Lash-horn's  dusky  spears* 

The  rocky  ridges  fretted, 
With  sunny  smiles  and  stormy  tears, 

Thy  fickle  streams  coquetted. 

But  here,  where  Chestnut's  creamy  plumes 

Whiten  the  winding  hollow, 
And  golden-rods  or  grassy  glumes 

The  rambling  roadside  follow, 
These  woodland  ways  are  banished  quite; 

She  moves  along  sedately, 
No  nimble  Nymph  in  frolic  flight, 

But  steadier — almost  stately. 

Near  her  tall  Elms  and  Sycamores, 

The  Valley's  queen  attending, 
Above  the  curves  of  pebbly  shores 

Their  leafy  limbs  are  bending; 
But  though  the  envious  woodlands  still 

May  hide  her  from  some  lover, 
She  bares  her  bosom  with  a  thrill 

To  the  broad  skies  above  her. 

*  "  Lash-horn,"  very  descriptive  name  of  the  Vir 
ginia  Mountaineer's  near  White-top  (Kaunayrock)  for 
the  "  balsam  "  or  "  spruce."  The  French  Broad  (Zeh- 
leeka)  is  the  "  Racing  River." 


The  Swannanoa  River,  No.  Ca.      23 

The  rocky  crests  are  far  above 

Where  Laurel  thickets  darken, 
Below  are  valleys  where  young  Love 

Finds  hearts  that  heed  and  hearken; 
Tempestuous  toil  and  tumult  past, 

Lo!  on  her  bosom  sleeping, 
The  smiling  skies  look  down  at  last; 

There  Heaven  some  tryst  seems  keeping. 

Born  where  the  dusky  "  balsams  "  frown, 

Where  .the  cloud-wrack  gathers  dimly, 
And  the  cascade's  showers  come  leaping  down 

From  gray  crests  rising  grimly ; 
Between  the  Blue  Ridge  and  The  Blacks 

Fair  Swannanoah  finds  her  fountains; 
For  ten  good  miles  she  never  slacks, 

But  slips  past  half  a  dozen  mountains: 

Past  a  good  score  of  cabins  runs, 

By  fifty  fields  and  fifty  fallows, 
'Yet  still  half-hid  from  summer  suns 

With  deeper  flow  or  wider  shallows; 
At  last  her  stainless  tribute  brings, 

With  many  a  sigh  and  quiver, 
As  a  maiden  who  half  sighs — half  sings, 

When-  she  weds  the  "  Racing  River." 


24  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


lue  Eses  of  IRantabasleb  l  * 

"  BLUE  EYES  "  of  "  Nantahayleh," 

These  blossoms  blooming  fair 
When  September  days  dawn  grayly, 

And  the  mountain  beeches  bare ; 
The  vales  and  valleys  under, 

Though  still  leafed,  begin  to  show 
Faint  glimpses  of  the  wonder 

Of  the  woods, — when  all  aglow 

With  .the  touch  of  Autumn's  fires: — 

Glint  of  crimson — gleam  of  gold, 
And  about  the  Alpine  spires 

Soft  the  sunlit  mists  are  rolled. 
E'er  October's  frosts  grow  bitter, — 

E'er  November  winds  blow  bleak, — 
Where  the  golden-rods  still  glitter 

On  the  prairies  of  the  peak ; 

*  This  mountain  group  in  Western  North  Carolina 
attains  to  about  5,500  feet.  On  their  summits  in  Sep 
tember  flowers  the  Fringed  Gentian. 


Blue  Eyes  of  Nantahayleh.          25 

On  the  mountain  meadows  spreading 

From  the  "  Wajah  "  to  the  "  Wine," 
Though  the  beech  its  brown  leaves  shedding, 

Softly  fringed,  these  "  Blue  Eyes  "  shine: — 
"  Blue  Eyes"  of  "  Nantahayleh," 

Opening  here  in  flowery  guise, 
Drinking  in  the  sunlight  daily, — 

Filled  with  secrets  of  the  skies. 

Can  your  lassies  show  me  bluer 

When  I  kiss  their  rosy  lips  ? 
Can  your  ladies  show  me  truer 

When  Life's  hopes  are  in  eclipse? 
Nay !     I'll  trust  these  "  Blue  Eyes  "  blooming 

Spite  of  leaf-fall  and  of  frost : — 
Though  the  grayest  shadows  glooming, 

These  tell  us  Hope's  not  lost. 

When  "Blue  Eyes"  of  "Nantahayleh" 

To  the  dark  days  beauty  bring, 
I  read  prophecies  tha.t  gaily 

Predict  the  deathless  Spring: — 
After  the  Autumn's  fading, 

After  the  snowflakes  fall, 
Comes  Hope — the  blind  heart  aiding, 

Comes  Love — the  Best  of  all. 


26  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

"  Blue  Eyes  "  of  "  Nantahayleh," 

With  fringed  lids — opening  shy, 
"  Blue  Eyes  ''  that  peep  out  gaily 

Through  clouds  to  yonder  sky; 
Fair  signs  and  tokens  given 

To  show  how  Nature  gives : — 
The  Soul  that  loves  is  shriven, 

The  heart  that  hungers  lives! 


The  "Wine  Spring."  27 


ITbe"  Mine  Spring" 

WHERE  "  Nantahayleh's  "  billows  rise 
In  close  communion  with  the  skies, 
A  dimpled  dell  the  forest  folds 
That  at  its  heart  a  fountain  holds, 
Whose  waters  sparkle  like  the  draught 
That  sometimes  turns  a  tippler  daft ; 
For  here  despite  the  Winter's  frost 
That  even  June  hath  not  quite  lost, — 
Some  wooing  Witch  hath  laid  soft  spells 
On  every  dazzling  drop  that  Wells. 

Worn  wanderers  from  the  narrow  streets 

Who  fly  the  city's  burning  heats, 

And  seek  the  welcome  of  these  heights, 

The  Highland's  temperate  days  and  nights; 

After  a  climb  of  two  good  leagues 

Forget  their  struggles  and  fatigues, 

Whilst  here  beneath  the  cloudless  blue, 

They  sip  these  draughts  of  "  Mountain  Dew." 

*  The  "  Wine  Spring"  is  at  elevation  of  over  5 ,000  feet 
near  crest  of  one  of  the  Nantahayleh  "  balds,"  Macon 
County,  No.  Car. 


28  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

No  Maenads  golden  goblets  fill, 

With  fiery  poison  from  the  still, 

Yet  if  the  bubbling  bliss  you  quaff 

The  saddest  soul  should  learn  to  laugh; 

The  heart,  to  Hope  a  stranger  long, 

Shall  sing  again  a  Summer  song; 

The  lips  that  sighed  shall  smile  once  more, 

And  kisses  come — denied  before. 

Not  grapes  that  gild  the  castled  Rhine 

When  soft  September's  sunbeams  shine, 

Nor  ruddier  vintages  of  France 

That  lead  the  Loves  a  merry  dance; 

Nor  richer  draughts  from  sunny  Spain, 

Nor  "  Christ's  Tears  "  from  the  Roman  plain. 

Shall  send  such  subtle  fires  through 

Your  languid  veins,  as  this  clear  dew, 

Dipp'd  in  a  hallowed  leaf  fom  this 

Cool  spring  the  morning  cloudlets  kiss. 

And  as  you  sip  the  liquid  pearls, 
Look  down  and  see  your  lassie's  curls, 
Her  eyes  of  blue — her  lips  of  rose 
Reflected  where  this  fountain  flows; 
And  if  you'd  learn  this  spring's  full  power 
Pluck  from  its  brink  the  gentian  flower, 
Whose  blue  eyes — half  closed,  as  is  meet — 


The  "  Wine  Spring."  29 

Give  happy  hints  to  hearts  discreet; 
For,  if  you  would  not  break  the  spell, 
Kiss  as  you  please — but — never  tell. 

If  thus,  with  her  you  love  the  best, 
For  this  fair  fountain  you  make  quest, 
If  thus  together  on  its  brink 
You  bend  and  from  leafed  cuplets  drink, 
Its  sparkling  draughts  I  know  shall  thrill 
More  sweetly  than  the  wines  that  fill 
The  brimming  bumpers  that  a  King 
Might  give  to  Lords  who  tribute  bring : 
For  love  is  here  the  liberal  host, 
And  lovers — guests  he  likes  the  most. 

This  spring  that  in  these  forest  gloom 
Gleams  starlike  under  ferny  plumes, 
Gives  draughts  so  full  of  subtle  fire — 
Despite  its  frost — to  wake  desire, 
And  woo  back  Hope  from  Eden's  lost; 
That  sad  souls — tempest-torn  and  tossed- 
TsTow  savoring  the  sweets  of  love 
Once  mourned  as  dead,  here  couched  abovo 
Where  billowy  summits  softly  kissed 
At  sunrise  by  the  morning  mist, — 
As  here  with  laughing  lips  they  sing, — 
Call  this  Dan  Cupid's  "  Tippling  Spring.* 


3o  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


Siren  of  Sacbem's  1beab ! 

(A  Legend  of  Caesar's  Head,  South  Carolina.) 

WHERE  clear  Saluda  first  leaps  out 

From  tufts  of  Blue-Ridge  bracken, 
With  ripplings  that  both  smile  and  pout 

For  leagues  before  they  slacken ; 
Where  grape-vines  flaunt  their  greenest  flags 

Above  the  woodland  spires, 
Rise  gray  and  grim  TAHNOHLA'S  crags, — 

Facing  Day's  dying  fires. 

Its  massive  frontage,  like  the  face 

Of  warrior  gray  and  hoary, 
Lends  a  grim  weirdness  .to  the  place 

With  echoes  of  old  story; — 
Above,  a  scalp-lock  of  dark  pines, — 

Below,  a  front  of  granite — 
Rugged  and  wrinkled  in  its  lines, — 

Fierce  frowning  as  you  scan  it. 
Yet  seem  these  slopes  of  billowy  green 

Unchanged  by  snows  or  summers, 
As  leafy  as  of  old  when  seen 


The  Siren  of  Sachem's  Head.        31 

By  those  long-lost  First-comers 
Who,  voyaging  from  far  shores,  beheld, 

In  years  that  none  remember, 
This  brow  of  rock,  as  old  as  Eld, 

Flushed  by  the  sunset's  ember. 

In  those  first  fiery  days  of  Earth 

A  warrior  chief,  titanic, 
Still  lusty  with  primeval  birth, 

And  pulsed  by  veins  volcanic, 
Ruled  o'er  this  dim  deserted  Land, 

Where  eddying  storm-clouds  drifted, 
A  pine-tree  scepter  in  his  hand 

Above  the  vales  uplifted. 

But  with  the  ages  that  have  flown, 

The  snows  of  many  winters, 
The  old-time  Sachem's  granite  throne 

Has  crumbled  into  splinters; 
Stone-blind  and  gray  with  countless  years, 

We  now  may  safely  beard  him, 
Though  once  he  launched  such  fiery  spears 

That  all  the  Titans  feared  him. 

But  now  the  Fairies  in  .the  fern 
Above  his  brow  hold  revels, 


32  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

And  buried  deep  in  caverns  stern 

Lie  locked  his  stormy  devils; 
Whilst  at  his  feet,  Alt  a,  dusk-eyed, 

A  nut-brown  Indian  Lorey, 
Hath  lured  a  thousand  hearts  aside 

Since  first  she  told  her  story. 

Hath  lured  them  on  with  starry  eyes, 

And  lulled  them  into  slumber 
With  subtle  smiles  and  soothing  sighs*, 

Whilst  Life  grew  numb  and  number; 
And  where  Saluda  silvering  gleams 

Beneath  her  woodland  covers, 
Lost  in  a  Land  of  endless  Dreams, 

Lie  all  her  drowsy  lovers. 

Ware  Witch !  who  lures  her  lovers  so : — 

What  help  for  those  who  love  thee  ? 
The  woods  are  dark  as  night  below, 

Dim  shine  .the  stars  above  thee; 
Thy  loves  know  neither  hopes  nor  schemes, 

Long  lost  both  rut  and  reckoning; 
Lo!  opens  wide  the  gate  of  Dreams, 

Where  Alta's  self  stands  beckoning. 

Her  eyes  are  like  the  stars  of  eve 
From  cloudy  coverts  shining ; 


The  Siren  of  Sachem's  Head.        33 

With  waving  hands  s.uch  spells  she'll  weave 

(All  lovers'  dreams  divining), 
That  those  who  pause  to  scan  the  deep 

Beneath  TAHNOHLA'S  precipices, 
Are  lured  to  take  the  dizzy  leap, 

Betrayed  by  Alta's  cruel  kisses. 
3 


34  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


tf  rom  Billow  to  3Broofe . 

THESE  limpid  and  laughing  waters 

Run  gushing  and  gurgling  in  glee, 
Making  music  as  sweet  as  the  daughters 

Of  Nereus  e'er  sang  to  the  Sea: — 
Yea !  sweeter  and  softer ;  they  bring  us 

No  echoes  of  tempests  and  tears ; 
The  songs  of  our  childhood  they  sing  us ; 

Refrains  from  the  best  of  life's  years. 

Here  under  the  shade  of  these  willows 

That  bend  their  light  branches  across, 

There  is  never  the  thunder  of  billows 
To  tell  us  of  shipwreck  and  loss; 

No  depths  that  shall  whelm  us  far  under, 

No  pitiless  surges  that  rise, 

Mid  .the  darkness  and  echoing  thunder, 

With  their  stormy  crests  threatening  the 
skies. 

No  treacherous  tides  to  deceive  us 

With  the  counterfeit  semblance  of  rest, 

Like  false  lips  that  but  lure  us  to  grieve  us 
With  hopes  that  are  barren  at  best 


From  Billow  to  Brook.  35 

Here  sweet  sing  the  birdlings  above  us, 

Fair  foliage  weaves  sunshine  with  shade; 

If  ripples  allure — they  but  love  us, 
And  whisper  it  shyly — afraid: 

Afraid  as  a  maid  that  doth  hearken 

With  blushes  to  love  first  confessed, 
Yet — if  shadows  discreetly  should "  darken — 

Would  clasp  thy  fond  heart  to  her  breast. 
O !  this  is  the  brooklet  that  bubbles 

And  yearns  for  the  touch  of  thy  limbs; 
A  Nymph  who  will  soothe  all  thy  troubles 

As  she  yields  to  thy  wishes  or  whim 

Plunge  in!  and  the  ripples  around  thee 

Will  circle  and  dance  in  their  glee, 
And  bubble  wi.th  bliss  that  they've  found  thee 

And  rescued  thy  Soul  from  the  Sea : 
From  the  Sea — with  its  tempests  and  terrors — 

From  the  Sea  with  its  death  t.nd  despair: — 
Confess  to  the  Nymph  all  thy  errors, — 

Thy  wooing  of  Mermaids,  whose  hair 
Streamed  like  sunbeams  above  the  white  beaches 

Fringed  with  foam  fair  as  bo&oms   con 
fessed  ; 
She  will  listen,  and  tenderness  teaches 

The  penitence  Beauty  loves  best. 


36  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Around  thee  her  crystal  tide  gushes, 
Above  thee  her  leafy  boughs  bend; 

She  crowns  thee  with  lilies  and  rushes, 
And  welcomes  a  lover  and  friend. 

The  Mermaids  are  fickle  and  faithless, 

They  lure  thee  with  laughter  and  song, 
But  he  that  believes  them,  not  scatheless 

Shall  he  trust  to  their  tenderness  long! 
O !  Nymph  of  the  Brooklet  receive  me 

In  thy  grot  where  ripples  whisper  in  glee; 
Thou  would'st  never  first  lure  and  then  leave  me 

As  I  have  been  left — by  the  Sea. 

I  have  left  far  behind  me  the  billows 

In  search  of  the  brooklets  that  run, 
Fringed  with  feathering  foliage  of  willows, 

Half  hidden  away  from  the  sun. 
The  Sea's  treacherous  Siren  betrayed  me, 

Wrecked  my  shallop  where  fierce  surges 

toss, 
But  the  Nymph  of  the  Brooklet  shall  aid  me 

In  her  arms  to  forget  the  old  loss. 


The  Snowdrop  Maidens.  37 


Snowfcrop  Maifcens ! 

THE  Snowdrop  Maidens  dance  to-day 

Where    shadows'   are    glooming    and    skies    are 

gray ; 

When  w7oods  are  leafless  and  fields  are  brown 
The  Snow-Maid  weareth  her  whitest  gown ; 
In     her     streaming    tresses — by     wild     winds 

tossed— 
Like  stars  of  silver  gleam  flowers  of  frost. 

When  you  meet  these  white  Maids  of  Astolat 
Put  on  your  muffler  and  pull  down  your  hat ; 
But  these  lily  ladies  who'd  care  to  woo, — 
With  their  pallid  cheeks  and  their  noses  blue  ? 
T^Tot  a  nice  time — but  an  ice  time — this ; 
Less  charm  than  chill — in  a  Snow-Maid's  kiss. 

Ay,  chicly  the  charms  of  the  Snowdrop  Maid; 
She  shivers  in  sunlight  and  loves  the  shade; 
On  her  pallid  cheeks  no  roses  bloom, — 
The  Home  she  haunts  is  a  House  of  Gloom : — 
On  the  craggy  peaks  where  the  clouds  hang  low, 
She  dances  but  faster  when  the  ice-winds  blow. 

See  up  yonder,  through  the  shadows  grim 


38  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Where  the  fir-capp'd  summits  loom  dark  and 

dim; 

Under  a  sky  where  no  sunbeam  sifts, 
Over  the  snow  as  it  deepening  drifts, 
Lo ! — come  the  Snowdrop  Maidens  all, 
Dancing  down  at  the  White  Wind's  call. 

Under  the  boughs  of  a  leafless  tree,  [me ; 

See! — the    Snowdrop    Maidens    are    beckoning 
Down  in  the  glens  where  the  dumb  brooks  bide, 
Coyly  and  cooly  the  white  witches  hide ; 
High  above — where  the  white  crests  show, 
Dance  the  lily  ladies  in  robes  of  snow. 

Fair  may  the  Snowdrop  Maidens  be, 
But  your  lily-white  ladies  too  cool  for  me ; 
Better  than  shadows  and  sunless  gloom. 
The  gardens  gay  where  the  rosebuds  bloom ; 
These  Wintry  Witches, — where  the  clouds  hang 

gray, 
Are  weaving  shrouds  for  the  world  to-day! 

But  in  a  furled  bud  closely  pent — • 

(Sweet  prophecies  by  the  glad  Gods  sent — ) 

Where  the  dusky  mountain  laurel  grows, — 

Lurks  a  tender  blush  under  veiling  snows; 

Shyly  hidden,  as  is  Love's  way, 

Sleeping — not  dead — the  sweet  soul  of  MAY ! 


The  Songs  that  Need  no  Words.     39 


ZTbe  Son0s  tbat  IReeo  no 

BEDDED  on  ferns  and  moss  I  lie, 

Through  the  leaves  above  me  a  glimpse  of  sky 

Blue  as  the  gentians  in  yonder  nook 

Where  boughs  bend  over  the  brawling  brook. 

Behold  .the  beauties  I  laud  and  love, 
Ferns  golden  under,  green  leaves  above, 
And  through  this  vista  far — far — away 
Clouds  capping  the  billows  of  blue  to-day. 

And  never  a  sound  in  the  woodlands  wake 
Save    the    whisperings    soft    that    the    breezes 

make; 

The  brooklet's  murmur, — the  chirp  of  birds, 
And  these  are  the  songs  that  need  no  words. 

The  sigh  of  the  winds,  the  chant  of  the  seas, 
The  fragrance  of  flowers,  the  verdure  of  .trees, 
The  blue  of  the  skies,  the  glow  of  the  sun, 
I  love  them  always  and  every  one.    , 


40  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Nearer  .to  Nature  let  me  stand, 

Heart  .to  heart,  and  hand  in  hand, 

Like  friend  and  lover — merged  both  in  one 

From  season  to  season,  from  sun  to  sun. 

Not  married  and  harried  as  some  folks  are, 
Not  severed  and  sundered,  as  star  from  star, 
But  close  and  clinging  as  doth  the  Rose 
When  its  hundred  separate  petals  close, 

One — yet  many,  about  the  core 

Of  the  honeyed  bliss  Love  keeps  in  store, 

Hiving  happiness  from  May  to  May 

Lest  the  garnered  sweets  should  fail  some  day; 

Drinking  deeply  into  glad  lives, 
The  harvests  sweet  of  a  thousand  hives', 
So  that  no  famine,  when  blooms  are  shed, 
Could  starve  blind  souls  and  leave  Love  dead. 

The  babbling  of  brooks,  the  breath  of  the  breeze, 
The  murmur  of  pines  and  the  sounding  of  seas, 
The  fluttering  of  wings,  and  the  fluting  of  birds, 
Ah !  these  are  .the  Songs  that  need  no  Words ! 


The  Oracles  of  May.  41 


ZTbe  ©racles  ot 


E'ER  Pan  his  syrinx  sets  in  tune 
To  pipe  the  lays  of  jovial  June, 
Comes  that  fair  season  May  begets, — 
The  gladsome  Month  of  Violets. 

Fancy — more  fickle — is  April's  own, 
But  loyal  Love  we  now  enthrone, 
And  with  sweet  blossoms  crown  him  King 
Of  this  last — loveliest  Month  of  Spring. 

These  flowery  oracles — though  mute — - 
To  Faith  still  prophesy  of  Fruit, — 
To  sate  the  lips  of  those  content 
To  wait  on  helpings  heaven-sent. 


So,  too,  the  unlearned  lips  that  felt 
To-day  Hope's  earliest  kisses  melt 
Upon  them  timidly,  in  days  to  come 
You'll  find  less  diffident  and  dumb. 


42       .    Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

The  Heart  in  May  that  opens  first, — 
A  cradled  blossom — coyly  nursed, — 
Shall  ripen  into  radiance  soon 
Beneath  the  warmer  skies  of  June. 


And  ere  the  miracle  is  told 
Of  brave  September's  garnered  Gold, 
Love,  too,  although  he  never  farms, 
Shall  hold  Hope's  harvest  in  his  arms. 


The  Autumnal  Harlequin.          43 


Hutumnal  Ifoarlequtn. 

(Fall  in  the  Over-hills  of  Ottaray.') 

THE  leafage  daily  grows  more  thin, 

Winds  scatter  wide  the  woodland's  gold 

That  any  pauper's  hand  may  hold; — 

Fair  gifts  the  latest  comers  win. 

Ah!  when  October's  days  slip  in — 

I  half  forget  I'm  growing  old; 

Again  Love's  litanies  are  told, — 

Lost  chances  seem  the  only  sin. 

Here  come  my  Dryads  disarray'd, 

Disheveled  as  some  ravished  maid,. 

Blushing,  but  ready  to  begin 

A  giddy  dance — unzoned — unstayed — 

With  that  Last  Love — a  "  Reveler  Strayed,"- 

In  happy  fields : — Fall's  Harlequin. 

Ah !  the  Autumn  is  the  season 
That  I  always  love  the  best ; 
It  is  good  for  song  and  jest: — 
To  be  sour  seems  a  .treason 


44  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

To  the  month  when  grapes  are  pressed. 

And  a  bachelor  may  seize  on 

Any  day — a  special  reason 

When  his  sins  shall  be  confessed ; — 

Not  to  any  shaven  priest — 

But  some  maiden,  who  at  least 

Loves  some  sinner. 

Make  the  Sacrament  a  Feast; 

Buss  the  Beauty,  ban  the  Beast,- 

And  you'll  win  her! 

In  the  merry  month — October — 
Let  our  revelries  begin: — 
See! — the  Satyrs  all  a-grin, 
And  the  woodlands  none  too  sober. 
Naked  Nymphs  are  chatting  gaily 
By  the  fountains  as  they  flow, 
And  the  Dryads  laughing  show 
Their  limbs  more  clearly  daily. 
Every  day  she  smiles  less  shyly, — 
Glances  every  day  more  slyly — 
Does  this  darling — we  would  win:- 
Leaf  by  leaf  we'll  softly  strip  her, 
Not  a  shift  left — nor  a  slipper — 
When  she  hugs  bold  Harlequin. 


A  Cold  Snap.  45 


H  <Tol&  Snap. 

THE  purpling  trees  danced  to  a  breeze 

That  was  not  cold — but  cooling; 

The  grass  was  green — a  springlike  scene — 

Though  March — not  May — was  ruling. 

The  Southern  Sun  his  best  had  done 

To  warm  the  winds  and  dust  'em ; 

The  Oaks — tho'  tough — were  green  enough, 

In  spite  of  March,  to  trust  'em. 

On  every  side  with  daisies  pied 

And  dandelions  glittering, — 

The  fields  were  gay,  blue  skies  to-day, 

Bland  airs  and  birds  all  twittering : 

But  bide  a  bit,  the  end  of  it 

Perhaps  you'll  see  to-morrow ; — 

The  "  greenest  "  trees  suspect  a  "  freeze," — 

Flowers  hang  their  heads  in  sorrow. 

The  "  mercury  "  drops  and  blights  the  crops ; 

Despite  old  scars  and  schooling, 

We  trust  Jack  Frost,  and  to  our  cost 


46          Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Learn  lie  was  "  April  Fooling  " ; — 

'Tis  thus  with.  Love,  who — hand  and  glove — 

With  Truth  affects  to  travel ; 

Through    all    our    schemes    he    weaves    bright 

dreams 
He  swears  will  ne'er  unravel. 

But  bide  a  bit — the  end  of  it; 

The  Winter's  not  yet  over, 

And  butterflies  who  trust  his  lies — 

Will  hardly — "  live  in  clover  " ; 

The  maid  that  erst  your  fancies  nursed, 

And  gave  you  ready  schooling, 

Grown  curt  and  cold,  begins  to  scold: — 

Her  warmth  was — "  April  Fooling  "  ! 


Grass  of  Parnassus.  47 


(Brass  of  Parnassus. 

(Parnassia.) 

O I  PALLID  white  stars  of  September, 
Peeping  out  of  the  dusk  of  the  glades 
Where  Lobelias,  that  burn  like  an  ember, 
Fleck  with  scarlet  the  flickering  shades 
Of  the  woodland;  there — down  in  the  hollows, 
Half  hidden  by  feathering  ferns, 
The  Grass  of  Parnassus'  close  follows 
Green  banks  of  the  brooklets  and  burns. 

When  in  mizzling  and  misty  October 
The  frosts  are  gladdened  with  gold, 
E'er  the  later  days  sadden  and  sober 
With  russet-tints — cheerless  and  cold — 
The  chestnuts  and  oak;  in  close  covers, 
Near  the  ripples  roofed  over  with  vines, 
Coyly  hidden  away  from  her  lovers, 
Parnassia's  Star  twinkles  and  shines. 

What  blossom  more  dainty  than  this  is, 
With  its  petals  of  pearl  veined  with  green  ? 


48  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

It  hides  from  the  sun's  burning  kisses, 

Like  a  star  through  the  cloud-drifts  half  seen 

In  the  twilight ; — a  star  that  shall  guide  us 

Away  from  the  Cities  of  Sin 

To  the  bowery  byways  that  hide  us 

From  the  world  with  its  dust  and  its  din. 

O  brothers !     These  white  stars  that  glimmer 
Like  a  milky-way  fringing  the  brooks, 
That  under  the  green  and  gold  shimmer, 
Can  teach  us  far  more  than  the  books 
Of  priests  or  professors ; — come  listen 
To  the  lore  that  I  learn  from  their  leaves ; 
These  blooms,  that  like  tender  eyes  glisten, 
Have  their  tales  to  tell,  too,  like  the  Sheaves 

But  a  tale  not  of  travail  and  labor, 
Not  of  harvests  half -choked  with  the  .tares, 
Not  of  strife  between  neighbor  and  neighbor, 
Not  of  sordid  and  narrowing  cares 
That  our  lives  with  grim  shadows  environ ; 
But  prophesies  glad  from  Above ; 
Brooks  sing  sweeter  songs  than  a  Siren ; 
Blossoms  teach  us  contentment  and  love. 

Keep  thy  "  laurels,"  O  Peak  of  Parnassu 
For  sad  brows  that  are  furrowed  by  frowns ; 


Grass  of  Parnassus.  49 

Though  Fame  and  her  Lackeys  should  pass  us, 
And  rate  us  too  rustic  for  crowns, 
Whether  golden  or  gilded ; — what  matters 
The  sneers  of  a  world  where  Hates  hiss? 
See!    Autumn  her  golden  gifts  scatters, 
And  Love  finds  a  blossom — like  this: 

A  blossom,  if  only  the  "  grasses  " 
That  garland  the  Fountains  we  seek, 
Suits  better  our  loves  and  our  lassies 
Than  the  "  laurels  "  that  darken  thy  Peak. 
Let  thy  Lords  and  thy  Laurea.ts  scramble, — 
Excelsior! — still  their  device; — 
Below — far  more  safely  I  ramble, 
Nor  envy  your  honors  on  ice. 

Thy  Peaks,  with  their  grandeurs  and  glories. 

Are  barren  and  rocky  and  cold ; 

T  read  brighter  hopes — sweeter  stories — 

In  the  leaves  of  these  blossoms  that  hold 

In  their  hearts  Heaven's  uttermost  meanings, 

Written  down  in  just  that  sort  of  text 

That  a  lover  who  wastes  no  glad  gleanings, 

Would  learn  from  lips  shyly  perplexed. 

There's  a  time  for  the  sowing  and  reaping 
Of  the  harvests  Plenty  pours  from  her  horns  j 
4 


50  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

There's  a  time  for  sad  watching  and  weeping, — 

For  the  gathering  of  Thistles  and  Thorns 

That  follow  the  Furrow ;    but  Heaven, 

In  nooks  we  can  find  if  we  will, 

Keeps  Love, — Beauty  and  Hope  as  a  leaven, — 

Sweet  glimpses  of  Paradise  still. 

O !  Grass  of  Parnassus  star'd  wrhitely 
With  petals  in  whose  veins  are  seen 
(Though  the  frosts  of  September  fall  lightly) 
The  tints  of  fair  April's  glad  green 
Faintly  penciled ; — how  often  thy  flowers 
Through  the  russets  and  browns — sad  and  sere, 
Have  recalled  the  spring's  sunniest  hours, 
And  revived  with  thy  sweets  the  Old  Year! 

The  Goldenrod  gilds  the  wide  fallows 
With  the  glint  and  the  gleam  of  its  spears, 
And  down  by  the  brook's  pebbly  shallows — 
Half  hidden — the  Gentian  appears 
Tip'd  with  Heaven's  own  blue;  and  gay  asters 
Scatter  widely  their  disks  rayed  and  fringed, 
And  here  and  there  "  Rattlesnake  Masters," 
With  their  clustering  cups  orange  tinged, 

Or  fairer  than  frost-work ;  and  stately 
Liatris,  with  her  sceptre  aglow, 


Grass  of  Parnassus.  51 

Rises  regally  purple  where  lately 

We  found  the  Anemone's  snow; 

And  the  maples  burn  bright  in  the  hollows, 

And  the  chestnuts  turn  gold  on  the  hills, 

Though  the  Year  hath  forgotten  Spring's  swai- 

lows, 
And  frosts  soon  shall  fetter  the  rills. 

Yet  the  woods  have  tongues  ready  to  whisper 

The  secrets  that  Eden-Land  held, 

And  the  winds,  blowing  crisper  and  crisper, 

Bring,  like  echoes,  the  stories  of  Eld ; 

Ah !  come  to  these  shady  recesses 

Where  Parnassia's  stars  fitfully  shine, 

And  they'll  whisper  you  all  the  soul's  guesses 

Of  the  land  and  the  lore  that's  divine. 

Here  are  Oracles  deeper  than  Delphis, 

Yet  ready,  if  studied  aright, 

(For  blooms  Fairy  tongues  have  and  Elf  eyes) 

To  uncurtain  the  shadows  of  Night, 

And  show  us  beyond  the  Dark  Portals, 

Whose  lintels  seem  Death  and  Despair, 

The  Hope  and  the  Home  of  Immortals 

I-  Edens  surpassingly  fair. 


52  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


Wttcb  fbasel! 

(Hamamelis  Virginica.) 

BY  bickering  brooks  that  babbling  run  - 
From  summits  dim  to  valleys  dun, 
Half-hidden  from  November's  sun 
By  Leucothoe's  tresses  green, 
There  with  bleak  win.ter  half  begun, 
Witch  Hazel's  amber  buds  are  seen. 

A  dream  of  April  midst  the  grays 
That  gather  round  these  Autumn  days, 
When  skies  the  bluest  blur'd  with  haze, 
And  winds  of  morn  come  sharp  and  crisp ; 
Bent  o'er  the  brooklet  where  it  strays 
With  lilt  of  rapids  or  ripples'  lisp. 

Pale  flowering  of  softest  hue, 

As  when  across  the  Bending  Blue, 

The  slumberous  shadows  are  shot  through 

By  sunbeams'  sifted  doubly  fine — 

From  skies  that  sharpest  frosts  bestrew 

With  clouds  that  seem  to  half  divine 

The  storms  that  Winter  days  shall  bre^ 


Witch  Hazel.  53 

No  blaze  of  blossoms  here  unfold, 
But  faintest  fire  of  frosted  gold 
On  purpling  stems  that  hardly  hold 
One  leaf  unfingered  by  the  frost; 
No  tale  of  Spring-time  here  is  told: 
Witch  Hazel  buds  when  blooms  are  lost. 

When  suns  shine  full  and  winds  blow  fair 
Luck  laughs  and  Love  seems  debonair, 
Hope  conquers  Doubt — and  Faith  Despair, 
And  friends  are  thick  as  blooms  in  Spring: 
These  joys  have  all  been  ours  to  share 
When  buds  were  ripe  and  birds  would  sing. 

Now  Summer's  melting  mood  is  past 
September's  harvests  ripened  fast, 
And  then  October's  gold  at  last 
That  rusts  to  Autumn's  russet  gray; 
The  winds  are  bleak — skies  over  cast, 
And  cheerless  Winter  chide&  to-day. 

Yet  now  amid  the  woodlands  gaunt 
That  mournful  memories  ever  haunt, 
Though  the  wild  North-winds  fiercely  chaunt 
War-songs  and  \vails  of  sunless  Seas; 
Like  some  true  friend — no  fears  can  daun,t, 
Amid  the  glooms  of  leafless  trees ; 


54  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Fair  as  some  sunbeam  soft  that  slips 

Its  sheath  of  cloud  in  storm's  eclipse: 

Witch  Hazel,  where  the  brooklet  trips, 

Foretells,  in  flowers  of  pale  gold, 

That  though  Death  seals  Love's  flowering  lips. 

New  Springs  shall  follow  on  the  old. 


The  Trailing  Arbutus.  55 


ZTbe  ttraflfng  Hrbutus! 

(Epigcea  repens.} 

It  looks  so  innocent  and  shy,  a  timid  blushing 
thing, 

As  though  it  feared  to  face  the  sky  or  hearken 
to  the  Spring; 

The  Spring,  that  with  her  dancing  feet  and  rust 
ling  robes  that  play 

About  her  shoulders, — comes  to  greet  the  Dawn 
ing  of  Love's  Day: 

Love's  Holiday,  that  April  first  brought  veiled 

in  shifting  showers, 
That  ends  e'er  July's  fiery  thirst  hath  parched 

June's  drooping  flowers. 
Of  all  the  early  buds  .that  wake  to  welcome 

April's  birth, 
What  daintier  blossom  could  I  take  in  all  this 

glad  green  earth  ? 

None  fairer;  see  these  clustering  gems  of 
dainty  white  and  pink, 


56  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Half  hidden  by  brown  moss  and  stems  upon  the 

gray  crag's  brink; 
Arbutus,  with  her  small  pink  ears  laid  close  to 

Earth's  brown  breast, 
The  Spring's  first  whispered  coming  hears,  and 

tells  it  to  the  rest. 

Whilst  still  the  rude  winds  roughly  pass,  and 

March  ends  bleak  and  chill, 
She  hears  the  pulsing  of  the  grass, — and  feels 

the  old  roots  thrill; 
E'er  fickle  April,  weeping  erst,  begins  anon  to 

smile, 
Arbutus  buds  have  told  us  first  with  blooms 

that  ne'er  beguile. 

Even  though  the  feathery  snow-flakes  fell, — ,tha 
Dawns  gray  robed  in  gloom, 

We  know  at  last  that  Winter's  spell  is  broken  by 
one  bloom; 

This  rosy  prophet  of  .the  Spring,  cradled  in  leaf 
less  bowers, 

Heralds  the  coming  of  the  King  who  wears  a 
crown  of  Flowers. 


To  a  Humming-Bird.  57 


Uo  a 

FEOM  what  far  Isle&  of  Antilles, — 

Across  the  blue  and  billowy  seas 

Have  those  wings — whirring — borne  thee  hence, 

From  land  of  palms  to  land  of  pines ; — 

Where  even  the  noonday's  sunlight  shines 

In  August  with  a  coy  pretense 

Of  April  airiness', — a  hint 

That  summer's  noon  unrisen  yet? — 

Or  may  be,  .that  frail  frosts  shall  fret 
Ere  long  the  flowers  that  gleam  and  glint — 
To  match  the  jewels  of  thy  throat, — 
The  gems  that  sparkle  in  thy  crest. 
Where  yonder  blossoms  blaze  their  best, 
A  feathered  rainbow  seems  to  float 
On  winglets  poised,  that  in  a  whir 
Against  the  leafage, — seem  a  blur, — 
A  gossamer  shot  through  with  gold: 
With  beak — (a  Fairy's  dagger  this) — 
That  dips  into  the  honeyed  bliss 
Of  every  bloom  the  dawns  unfold. 


58  Songs  of  .the  Sahkohnagas. 

O !  birdling,  when  the  bleak  days  come, 
And  every  lingering  blossom  grieves, 
Autumn's  gold  rustling  in  the  leaves, — 
Brown  thrushes  in  the  thickets  dumb : 
Canst  thou  not  guide  me,  flight  by  flight, 
Athwart  the  leagues  that  lie  between, 
To  tha,t  fair  Land,  where  Summer's  sheen 
Girdles  the  months  that  know  no  blight. 


A  Sylvian  Symphony.  59 


H  Silvan 

THIS  leafy  forest  is  a  world 

Quite  wide  enough,  to  house  my  heart ; 

And  in  this  fragrant  flower  furled 

I  find  sweet  salves  to  soothe  Love's  smart. 

A  Dryad  is  my  lady-love 

In  leafy  bowers  biding; 

Soft  coos  above  the  purple  dove 

Where  winds  are  softly  chiding 

The  pines,  that  mid  the  leafy  leas 

Still  murmuring  mourn  for  long  lost  Seas. 

In  this  hand's-breadth  of  mottled  moss 
There's  room  enough  for  Love  and  Loss; 
And  every  blossom's  wind-kissed  bell 
To  fond  hearts  Love's  sweet  stories  tell. 
In  these  soft  silences,  where  delves 
The  chipmunk,  there  are  lurking  elves ; 
Brownies,  in  curious  caps  and  cowls, 
As  wonderfully  wise  as  owls; 
When  the  moon  silvers  sylvan  bowers 
Fays  slip  from  all  the  nodding  flowers ; 


60  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

And  near  the  fountain's  pebbly  brink 
The  Pinkies  dance  in  white  and  pink; — 
And  Gnomes  and  Kobolds,  Nixies  fair, 
And  Pixies, — fluttering  everywhere. 
When  owls  are  out,  and  bull-frogs  croak, 
The  woodlands  .teem  with  Fairy  folk! 

But  when  the  Dawn  is  breaking 
The  Fairy-folk  fly  quaking 
To  shadowy  glens  and  bowers, 
And  hide  in  caves  and  flowers. 
Fair  Nymphs  through  glen  and  grove 
In  laughing  legions  rove; 
The  birds  new  flights  are  winging, 
And  greet  Love  with  their  singing: 
Yet  still  the  woodlands,  up  or  under, 
Are  full  of  witcheries  and  wonder. 

See!    There's  a  tyrant  spider 
Weaving  nets  for  flippant  flies, 
And  standing  right  beside  her, 
Brother  Bumble  packs  his  thighs* 
With  the  pilfered  sweets  of  flowers 
From  a  hundred  different  bowers; 
Fond  filchings  in  fair  weather 
From  hare-bell  and  from  heather. 


A  Sylvian  Symphony.  61 

And  here  a-tip-toe  tripping, 
With  soft  star-light  in  her  eyes, 
I  find  a  Naiad  slipping 
Into  depths  .where  daylight  dies ; 
And  I  kiss  the  rosy  nipples' 
That  the  snowy  bosoms  show : 
Then  we  dive  beneath  the  ripples, 
But  the  rest — you  needn't  know ! 


62  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


FLORIDA  FANCIES. 


Minter  Wooings ! 

(!N  THE  "  SUNNY  SOUTH.") 

I  AM  Winter,  but  my  smile  is  so  cheering 
You  might  almost  mistake  me  for  Spring ; 
My  blossoms  are  pushing  and  peering 
When  the  swallows  of  summer  take  wing. 

Though  I  threaten  the  blooms  of  November, 
I  >am  cowed  by  the  thorns  of — one  Hose, 
And  there  are  some  eyes  I  remember 
That  could  melt  in  a  momen.t  my  snows. 

Though  I  follow  the  steps  of  the  mower 
Still  rich  are  the  harvests'  I  glean ; 
Long  e'er  Love  hears  the  Song  of  the  Sower, 
My  frosts  are  all  broidered  with  green. 

When  the  Violets  of  March  are  fast  fading 
My  Jessamines  and  Roses  appear, 
For  Flora  with  blossoms  is  braiding 
The  cincture  that  girdles  the  year. 


Winter  Wooings.  63 

May  marries  December  despite  me, 
And  I  show  "  the  cold  shoulder  "  in  vain ; 
The  earliest  buds  safely  slight  me, 
And  my  frosts  even  Lilies  disdain. 

I  am  born  with  the  Moon  in  the  crescent, 
I  die  with  the  Moon  in  the  wane; 
For  my  snows  are  as  evanescent 
As  the  glories  of  April's  reign. 


64          Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


Water  $ewftcbet> ! 

GREEN  glooms  are  the  orange  groves  yonder 

In  whose  dusk  shine  stars  fragrant  and  fair; 

My  fancies  no  further  would  wander 

Than  these  shores  where  the  mid-winters  wear 

Half  the  tints  of  the  summers  that  faded 

To  gold  when  November  grew  sere ; 

Even  March  with  sweet  blossoms  is  braided, 

And  April  sheds  never  a  tear. 

Not  yet  show  our  "  laurels  "  the  luster — 
That  rivals  the  lily's  white  gleam, — 
But  May  cometh  soon ;  you  may  trust  her 
To  ripen  the  buds  that  still  dream,— 
Only  dream  of  the  days  that  are  burning 
With  blossoms  still  hushed  into  sleep : 
But  March  ends  and  with  April's  returning — 
The  South  wind  breathes  over  the  deep. 

The  Loltees  and  Lurlines  that  cower'd 
In  gray  grottoes  deep  under  the  waves, 
Now,  knowing  the  Jessamines  have  flowered, 


Water  Bewitched.  65 

Catch  glimpses  far  down  in  their  caves 
Of  the  Sun's  golden  showers — that  stipple 
Their  dusk  with  a  freckling  of  stars, 
And  they  hark  to  the  lilt  of  the  ripple 
That  breaks  into  song  on  the  bars 

Of  silvery  sands,  close  embracing 
The  bluest  of  heavens,  that  .tell 
Every  blossom  and  bower  enlacing 
The  green-girdled  shores  of  Estelle.* 

Beneath  the  wide  fans  of  Palmettoes 
Let  us  dream  in  the  shadows  that  woo; 
The  Yucca  unsheathes  his  stilettoes' 
To  guard  us  from  Hates  that  pursue. 

Shut  out  the  bleak  North  with  its  wailing 

Of  tempest, — its  turmoil  and  tears ; 

Spread  our  sails  to  soft-winds,  we  are  sailing 

With  Love, — Hope  the  pilot  who  steers ; 

And  Heaven  perhaps  is  the  Haven, 

If  not — there  are  Edens  below, 

Though  the  soul  that's  too  cautious  and  craven 

May  miss  the  gifts  Godheads  bestow. 

*  Lake  Estelle  is  between  Winter  Park  and  Orlando, 
Fla.  ;  two  well-known  winter-resorts  in  De  Leon's 
Land. 

5 


66  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

See !  there  in  the  deep  as  it  darkles 
Bluer  skies  than  the  heavens  above, 
Far  under  the  firmament  sparkles ; 
Plunge  in,  win  some  Loltee — and  love ! 
What  is  Death  but  the  end  of  our  dreamings  ? 
What  is  ]STight  but  the  gateway  of  Days 
That  bring  us,  not  Life's  sordid  schemings, 
But  the  Deed  that  no  doubting  delays. 

Here  we  grope  in  a  gray  world  of  visions, 
Loves  and  hopes  that  but  flower  to  fade ; 
But  there  are  the  homes  of  Elysians, 
And  Doubt  and  Despair  stand  dismayed. 
Green-girdled  thy  shores  that  surround  me, 
Lake  Es,telle,  with  palmetto  and  pine ; 
Here  no  frail  faded  phantoms  have  found  me, 
But — fair  Loltees  and  Lurlines  divine. 

Magnolias  gleam  darkly  above  me, — 

But  her  "  laurels  "  I  leave  to  Estelle ; 

Not  Glory — but  the  Graces  shall  love  me 

If  I  woo  not  too  wisely — but  well. 

See !  down  in  the  clear  depths — far  under — 

There  open  blue  heavens  of  bliss ! 

If  I  plunged — would  my  saddened  soul  sunder 

From  dreams  of  a  lost  world  like  this  ? 


The  Cherokee  Rose.  67 


TTbe  Cberofeee  1Rose! 

THE  peach  trees  blush,  the  pear  trees  blanch, 

Foliage  or  flower  on  every  branch 

And  bough  to-day; 

Soft  blows  the  wind,  bright  shines  the  sun, 

Spring's  sweet  beguilements  have  begun, 

And  yet  'tis  March — not  May. 

Not  under  leafed  lids  shyly  hide 
The  violets — purple,  white  and  pied, 
But  airing  all 

Their  graces  in  the  fields  still  sere; 
These  and  the  bluets  first  appear, 
When  mock-birds  call. 

As  yet,  where  over  sandy  shallows 

The  rivule.ts  run,  but  dark-stemmed  sallows 

Show  laceries  faint 

Of  misty  greens°,  and  dark  lagoons, — 

That  mock  the  live-oaks'  gray  festoons, 

Red  maples  paint. 

*Rosa  Sinica,  orlcevigata,  of  some  botanists,  in  South 
ern  Florida  flowers  end  of  January. 


68  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

The  thrifty  elm  shows  warmer  tints, 

Embowered  beeches  give  us  hints 

Of  Summer's  green, 

And  where  the  rustic  roadways  ramble, 

Mid  purpling  leaves  white  buds  of  bramble 

Like  stars  are  seen. 

But  last  and  loveliest  of  the  gifts 
March  brings  us  from  December's  drifts 
Of  melting  snows, 
White  wings  of  butterflies  set  round 
A  bronzed  star  with  a  golden  ground, — 
A  wide-eyed  Rose. 

Long  sprays  of  leafage  green  and  glossed, 

Like  locks  of  laughing  Dryads  tossed 

To  lure  the  Spring; 

In  all  the  world  no  rose  for  me 

To  match  this  Rose  of  Cherokee 

The  March  days  bring. 


To  Alma  in  April.  69 


Uo  Blma  in  HprtU 

LET  Winter  winnow  from  his  snows- 
The  gifts  that  gild  this  world  of  ours. 
And  every  wooing  wind  that  blows 
Waft  hitherwards  from  tropic  bowers 
Exotic  luxuries  that  bring 
Fulfillment  of  an  endless  Spring. 

The  biting  frosts  of  Winter  nerve 

The  heplful  hands  that  wrest  a  guerdon 

From  Fate,  and  stalwart  hearts  best  serve 

To  bravely  bear  life's  heavy  burden: 

But,  longing  for  less  scanty  alms, 

The  Norseman  came  from  pines  to  palms. 


Here,  where  the  frosts  and  flowers  met, 
Lock  hands,  the  lusty  Year  embracing ; 
Here,  where  the  violets  half  forget 
Their  shyness,  sunbeams  interlacing 
Red  rose  with  snowdrops  wintry-white; 
Here  let  Love  rest  him  from  his  flight. 


70  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Here,  where  .the  "  Frost  flowers  "  fall  and  fade, 
Kissed  by  a  sun  too  warmly  beaming; 
Here,  where  the  roses  unafraid 
In  ides  of  March  of  Mays  are  dreaming ; 
Here,  under  fretted  palm-leaves,  Hope 
Should  draw  Love's  happiest  horoscope. 

Not  all  the  Summer's  juiciest  fruits 
Can  sweeter  prove  than  April's  bowers; 
See,  how  the  lissome  tendril  shoots, 
Its  brown  arms  cradling  baby  flowers, 
That  soon  shall  burgeon  out  and  bud- 
As  fair  as  May-day's  maidenhood. 

Not  all  .the  Autumn's  golden  sheaves 
Can  match  the  Jessamine's  gems  of  ami 
And  all  about  our  cottage  eaves 
Glycene's  purpling  clusters  clamber 
In  regal  robes  arrayed,  that  bring 
Rich  fancies  of  some  Flower  King. 

What  is  so  sweet, — nay,  half  so  sweet, 
As  buds  by  birdlings  serenaded  ? 
The  flowers,  fondly,  kiss  our  feet, 
And  over  us  the  trees  have  shaded 
Our  woodland  walks  with  curtains  green, 
Looped  up  with  festooned  vines  between. 


To  Alma  in  April.  71 

Yet  .there  is  one  thing  sweeter  far 
Than  songs  of  birds  or  flowers  the  fairest : 
To  this  sad  World  from  some  glad  Star, 
(Of  all  things  spiritual  the  rarest!) 
On  wings  immaculate  .there  came 
A  Soul  estatic,  wrapp'd  in  flame. 

It  sought  some  f  tting  niche  wherein 
It  still  might  dream  of  that  far  Heaven, 
Some  casket  rusted  by  no  sin, — 
Some  gracious  form  with  life  for  leaven, 
And  found  no  daintier  shrine  than  this 
Sweet  body  .that  my  lips  now  kiss. 

As  Summer's  pulses  stir  the  bud 
That  quickens  with  the  sweet  prevision, 
So  mixed  this  spirit  with  thy  blood, 
Transfusing  thee  with  powers  Elysian ; 
And  all  thy  charms  of  form  and  face 
From  this  new  gift  gained  added  grace. 

A  coronet  of  Jessamine  gold 

Shall  add  its  treasures  to  .thy  tresses, 

And  robes  as  rich  in  tints  untold 

As  royal  Glycene's,  shall  fold 

Thy  lissome  limbs,  whose  pallor  shows 

The  fairer  for  thy  cheeks  of  rose. 


72  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Let  April  bring  her  brightest  bud, 
~Not  all  her  gifts  can  match  thy  graces  ;- 
Thou  art  the  flower  of  Womanhood, 
And  where  Love's  soul  the  symbol  traces, 
Thy  memory  blooms,  and  ever  brings 
The  sunshine  of  eternal  Springs! 


The  Naughty  Nixie.  73 


Ube  IRauQbts  Wife  ! 


(Lake  Estelle.} 

IN  the  lakelet's  depths  —  that  no  ripples  dim, 

In  the  silence  soft,  where  the  finn'd-folk  swim  ; 

Under  the  floating  flowers  that  swing 

To  the  softest  airs  .that  the  breezes  bring  : 

There  in  the  noonday  dusk  of  the  deep, 

Where  even  .the  golden  sunbeams  sleep  ; 

Couched  on  a  bed  of  golden  sands, 

My  Witch  of  the  Waves'  —  with  waving  hands  — 

Beckons  me  down  to  that  world  below, 

Where  Death  is  a  dream  that  the  Gods  forego. 

Oh,  you  naughty  iXixie,  do  you  wish 
To  bait  your  line  with  love,  and  fish 
For  a  "  gudgeon  "  —  not  green,  but  as  wrinkled 

and  gray 

As  the  bald-headed  Bard  who  peers  to-day 
Down  in  these  depths,  where  he  catches  gleams 
Through    the    clare-obscure  —  of     his    faded 

dreams*  ? 
Who  hears,  like  vthe  chimes  of  bells  long  rung, 


74  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

The  echoes  of  songs  dead  lips  have  sung? 
Who  sees  in  the  Heavens  glassed  below 
The  skies  that  have  darkened  so  long  ago  ? 
Who  knows  that  the  lures  that  you  weave  to-day 
Are  the  same  old  tricks  (that  the  girls  grown 

gray) 
Once  played  in  the  days  that  are  dead  as  the 

wraith 
Of     defrauded     Friendships     and     murdered 

Faith  ? 

/ 

Nay !  naughty  Nixie,  your  lures  are  lost. 

For  my  fires  have  long  since  turned  to  frost; — 

In  the  waters  beneath,  or  the  Earth  above, 

I  have  found  but  the  pangs — not  the  pleasures — 

of  Love: 

No  Lorely  of  the  witching  waves 
Can  lure  me  down  to  her  sunless  caves ; — 
Nay,  the  rosiest  maid  with  her  ripest  kiss 
Can  never  waken  Hope's  buried  bliss.  1 


The  Heavens  Below.  75 


1beax>ens  3Below, 

(Lake  Estelle.) 

WHEKE  ripples  glimmer  and  wavelets  gleam, 
The  lakelet  dazzles  the  shadows  dim 
Under  the  pines  on  its  marshy  rim ; — 
And  I  sit,  by  the  silent  shores  and  dream. 
Of  a  summit  far  with  its  sunlit  crest, 
Rising  high  o'er  the  vales  below 
Where  brooklets  babble  and  blossoms  blow; 
But  the  waters  and  waves  are  best ! 
Fairest  of  all  when  the  winds  forget 
The  roses  to  fan  and  the  ripples  to  fret, 
And  I  gaze  in  the  depths  with  wonder ; 
For  above, — if  the  skies  are  blue  and  bland, 
Down  there  are  the  fields  of  Fairyland, — 
And  the  Heavens  are  opening  under! 


76  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


tRomance  of  tbe  IRoses  I 

WHITE  roses  on  her  breast, 

Tea-roses  in  her  hair, 
Red  roses  softly  rest 

On  her  cheeks  blushing,  where 
Kisses  I  press  so  oft 

Though  she  cries  shyly — Hush! 
Whispering  low  and  soft 

Lest  that  white  rose  should  blush. 
As  it  would, —  should  it  discover, 
That  this  lady  had  a  lover ! 

White  roses — pale  as  pearl 

Pressed  to  her  beating  heart, 
Ruddy  rose  that  unfurls 

When  her  glad  lips  impart 
Secrets  I  would  not  tell, — 

Whispers  I  would  not  share 
Even  with  buds  that  fell 

Tossed  from  her  golden  hair; 
Lest  these  blossoms  might  betray  us, 
Or  with  vengeful  thorns  delay  us. 


The  Romance  of  the  Roses.         77 

Tea-roses  in  her  hair, 

White  roses  on  her  breast, 

Are  they  not  whispering  there 

Secrets  that  Love  confessed  ? 

Yet  when  those  lips  I  press 

Blushing — she  bids  me  go, 

Lest  that  fair  rose  should  guess 

Half  the  things  lovers  know ; 

And  my  burning  vows  she  hushes 

Lest  these  blooms  should  read  her  blushes. 

Red  roses — ripe  and  rich, 
Matched  with  the  lips  I  press, 
Dainty  tea-roses,  which 
Fettered  by  some  fair  tress, 
Falling  in  golden  strands 
Down  on  her  bosom's  snow, 
Where  some  bold  lover's  hands 
Finds  where  white  roses  blow: — 
Then  behold,  Love's  lesson  learning, 
Every  blossom  crimson  turning. 


78  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


JBeau  Butterfly! 

LIKE  a  butterfly  I  flutter  round  the  blossoms 

on  life's  pa,th, 
And  the  sweetest  words  I  utter,  just  to  still  dear 

Rose's  wrath, 
After  having    often    flirted    with    the    dainty 

Violet  :— 

Trust  me,  she's  a  true  Coquette! 

When  you  find  a  flower,  or  fair  one,  loving 

shade  and  all  too  shy, 
These  are  ju&t  the  sort  to  snare  one,  if  you've 

never  learned  to  fly. 
All  the  Graces  of  the  Garden  I  have  .tested,  none 

are  sure, 

But  most  dangerous  the — demure. 

Sometimes,  it  is  true,  I  blindly  miss  the  Ross 
and  mate  the  Thorn, 

But  fair  Lily  laps  me  kindly,  and  consoles  for 
Rose's  scorn; 

Spite  of  wishes  and  of  wooing  e'en  Forget-me- 
nots  forget, 

But  red  Tulips  chide  regret. 


Beau  Butterfly.  79 

Let  others  wear  .the  willow,  or  weeds  of  sorrow 

show ; 
On  April  blooms  I  pillow  my  wings  that  gleam 

and  glow, 
And  through  the  sunlit  summer — Lily,   Rose 

and  Viole.t 

Teach  me  to — flirt  and  to — forget. 

In  a  flurry  and  a  flutter — each  bloom  captured 

by  surprise ; 
Sweet  lips  can  only  stutter  when  we  answer  with 

our — eyes : 
Let  the   roses   faint  to  lilies, — and  the  lilies 

blush  and  burn, 

As  I  woo  them  each  in  turn. 

Like  a  butterfly  I  follow  the  footsteps  of  the 

Spring, 
I  emulate   .the    swallow    despite    his   width  of 

wing ; 
Through  the  glad  and  golden  hours,  with  Lily, 

Rose  and  Violet, 

I  flirt,  and  no  frowns  make  me  fret. 

So  in  the  sunshine  basking,  I  welcome  all  who 
woo; 


8o  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Take  kisses  for  the  asking,  from  red  and  white 

and  blue : 
Why  should  they  call  me  giddy  because  I  laugh 

at  nets  ? 

I  earn  my  dews,  and  dodge  all  debts. 

Perhaps  I'm  somewhat  fickle,  that  is — I,   do 

not  care 

To  get  into  a  pickle  by  trusting  to  Love's  snare ; 
With  all  the  world  in  blossom,  whilst  some  I 

seek  and  others  shun, 

I'll  not  wait  long  to  win  me  one. 

Though  Violet,  Rose  and  Lily  should  all  rebuff 

me  now, 
I  should  be  surely  silly  to  weep  for  that, — I 

<trow ; 
The  Graces  of  the  Garden  are  not  so  hard  to 

find, — 

And — change  their  mind. 

Like  a  butterfly  I  flutter  round  the  flowers  fresh 

and  fair, 
And   the   sweetest   words   I   utter   when   their 

honeyed  stores  I  share; 
If  the  Roses*  prove  too  fiery,  there  are  Lilies, 

Heaven  knows ! 

That  might  cool  me  with  their  snows. 


Beau  Butterfly.  81 

If  to-day  come  gloomy  showers  and  my  beauties 

grow  discreet, 
Then  to-morrow's  brighter  hours   shall  make 

Hope  seem  doubly  sweet, 

Doubly  sweet  and  doubly  willing  thus  to  make 
at  once  amends 

To  the  ficklest  of — friends. 


82  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


Witb  a  jf  an  to  ff  icfele  jf  annp  ! 

WHAT  gift  were  bes.t  to  give  you,  dear, 

Fit  too  to  keep  as  token 

Of  all  the  coquetries  that  lure 

The  hearts  that  you  have  broken  ? 

What  thing  like  you  —  both  frail  and  fair  — 

Unsteady,  light  and  airy 

As  some  sly  Nixie  —  swift  to  snare, 

Or  flippant,  frisky  Fairy? 

At  .times  you're  soft  as  eider  down 
Wherein  young  Cupids  nestle, 
At  times  you're  cold  as  when  skies  frown 
And  flakes  with  flowers  wrestle; 
So  fair  and  fickle,  cool  or  kind, 
Xay!  sometimes  both  together; 
So  quick  you  change  your  mood  or  mind 
hard  to  say,  sweet,  whether 


Hope's  eager  hand  shall  grasp  the  Rose 

Or  gather  .thorns  that  rankle  ; 

Yet  those  your  eyes  leave  free,  Heaven  knows, 


With  a  Fan  to  Fickle  Fanny.        83 

Could  ne'er  resist  your  ankle : 
Inspired,  however,  by  Naughty  Nick, 
Sometimes  with  vengeful  vigor, 
Mark  how  the  little  filly  "  kicks," 
And  Romeo  treats  with  rigor. 

This  Fan,  the  scepter  of  a  Blonde — 
Whose  finger  wears  no  thimble, 
I  give  you,  it  is  frail — not  fond — 
Hence  'tis  a  fitting  symbol ; 
With  this  between  us  you  can  make 
A  "  coolness  "  when  you  like  it, 
Or  fan  a  dying  "  flame,"  or  break — 
A  heart  if  you  should  strike  it. 

'Twill  hide  your  blushes  (if  you  blush) 
Though  scant  the  space  it  covers; 
'Twill  screen  in  turn  the  gas  and  gush 
Of  all  your  legion  lovers; 
With  it,  sweet,  give  yourself  such  airs' 
As  suit  your  fragile  graces; 
Behind  it  you  may  lay  your  snares 
In  unexpected  places. 

Sheltered  behind  this  fan  you  fill 
With  yawns — "  gaps  "  conversational, 
And  safely  take  your  naps  at  will 


84  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

When  Romeos  grow  too  rational; 
Screened  by  its  folds  you'll  dig  your  pits, 
And  mask  them  with  .those  flowers 
Whose  subtle  fragrance  turns  the  wits 
Of  all  who  haunt  your  bowers. 

And  if  you  wish  a  tete-a-tete — 
A  fan  proves  safe  and  supple, 
A  wall  that  only  gives  ..  gate 
To — just  take  in — a  couple; 
But  spread  its  facile  folds  and  lo! 
How  many  can  it  shelter  ? 
Lothario  seeing  breasts  of  snow 
Believes  his  fires  can  melt  her. 

You  fancy  that  the  lady's  won 

Because  she  still  is  single; 

With  you  'tis  "  feeling  "—with  her—"  fun  "— 

To  make  your  heart-strings  tingle: 

Whoso  would  melt  the  living  snows 

That  guard  her  bosom's  Aiden, 

Must  be  a  Crossus,  Heaven  knows, 

And  bribe  wi,th  bonds  this  Maiden. 

She  never  feels' — though  sometimes  felt, 
She'll  never  love — though  lures  you 
With  kisses  warm  enough  to  melt, 


With  a  Fan  to  FickleFanny.        85 

Until  she  once  secures  you; — 
But  won, — a  convert  to  her  charms, — 
Your  heart  as  hostage  taken, — 
You'll  find  cold  welcome  in  her  arms : 
First  fooled,  and  then  forsaken. 

A  Fan  ?     Yes,  that's  the  gift  most  fit 

For  such  a  fickle  beauty; 

She's  neither  wealth — nor  worth — nor  wit — 

Xor  faintest  sense  of  duty ; 

And  yet  she  snares  the  wisest  man, 

With  flimsy  favors  fools  him : 

'Tis  pity,  that  unlike  a  fan — 

She  somehow — never  cools  him! 


86          Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


Dirtue  'dnrewarfcefc ! 

(To  Aline.} 

IN  April  she  adored  me, 
A  lass  of  fourteen  springs ; 
Indeed  she  rather  bored  me, — 
Her  charms  seemed  childish  things. 

I  might  have  taken  kisses — 
A  dozen  every  day, 
But  held  such  unripe  blisses 
Too  tame  for  even  play. 

Then  were  it  not  misleading 
The  maid,  at  least  in  part? 
There's  risk  you  see  in  reading 
The  secrets  of  a — heart. 

And  so  I  would  not  follow 
The  clues  she  often  gave; 
My  heart  not  hard  or  hollow, 
But  still — I  was  no  knave. 


Virtue  Unrewarded.  87 

My  conscience  would  have  teazed  me 
Had  half  her  lures  been  mine ; 
Yet  still  her  sweetness  pleased  me, 
Though  I  was — forty-nine. 

Another  April  flowers, 
The  maid  is  just  sixteen; 
She  feels  her  ripening  powers', 
Knows  now  what  love  may  mean. 

And  I, — an  old  friend  truly, — 
What  favors  now  are  mine  ? 
My  hopes  have  grown  unduly, 
And  she  has — grown  divine. 

"  Two  years  ago,  believe  me, 
From  kisses  I  abstained ; 
And  now  you  should  not  leave  md 
Without  fair  interest  gained : 

"  Remember  all  those  kisses 
I  might  have  taken  once !  " 
//  so,  the  Houri  hisses, 
You  must  have  been  a — dunce!  , 


88  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


jffcfele  fifteen. 

(To  Aline.} 

GOD  help  the  lover  in  love  with  a  lass 

Of  only  fifteen  years, 

For  she  loves  less  a  man — than  males  in  the 

mass-, 
And  the  lonely  "  One  " — left  in  arrears. 

IShe's  not  "  emotional,"  not  a  bit, 
Nor  fickle,  but  fond  of—"  all  " ; 
Yet  "  notional,"  that's  the  worst  of  it,, 
And  will  come  at  a  coxcomb's  call. 

Every  few  weeks  her  passions  bud 

To  a  flower,  but  hardly  a  flame, 

And  the  shallowest  heart  best  understood, 

For  she  likes  her  tempter — tame. 

Least  of  all  shall  you  earnest  be, 
Least  of  all  must  you — love, 
For  her  favorite  tipple  is  "  baby -tea," 
And  with  Folly — she's  "  hand  and  glove." 


Fickle  Fifteen.  89 

To-day  she  will  lure  you  if  she  can, 
Tender — yet  never  true; 
To-morrow  she's  ogling  some  other  man, 
And  has  quite  forgotten  you. 

Her  heart  is  never  an  empty  niche, 
Though  her  soul  still  a  vacant  shrine; — 
So  woo,  if  you  choose,  the  little  witch. 
For  she  never  could  be  mine. 


9O  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


Uo  a  Juvenile  Juliette ! 

,       (To  Katie  McR.) 

DON'T  be  in  such  an  awful  haste 
To  find  a  lucky  lover ; 
Enough  of  fools  for  every  taste 
As  later  you'll  discover ; — 
So  husband  your  resources  now, 
Just  wait  a  while,  don't  worry: 
Until  you're  twenty  anyhow 
There's  no  great  need  for  hurry. 

If  every  Gill  can  find  a  Jack, 

And  every  goose  a  gander, 

You  needn't  follow  Cupid's  track 

To  look  up  your  Leander : 

Even  if  you  cannot  "  make  heads  swim  " 

As  Heroines  might — or  "  Hero," 

Don't  howl  because  the  chance  looks  slim 

And  all  your  hopes  at  zero. 

You've  still  some  five  or  six  good  years 
For  fishing,  if  your  hooks  are 


To  a  Juvenile  Juliette.  91 

"Kept  baited ;  and  remember  tears 

Are  apt  to  hurt,  when  looks  are 

The  lures  that  best  may  help  you  catch. 

Some  Romeo  to  console  you ; 

But  watch  lest  spite  of  lock  and  latch 

The  rogue  should  still  cajole  you. 

Though  aught  that's  naughty  or  .that's  nude 

Your  youthful  tastes  may  tickle, 

Save  as  a  sort  of  interlude 

For  fancies  frail  and  fickle, 

You'll  find  that  Love  in  Hymen's  House 

Is  still  the  same  old  "  Codger  " 

Who  tries  to  picture  a  carouse 

Out  of  one  stale  "  corn-dodger." 

But  really,  if  you  will  not  wait — 
Say  half  a  dozen  summers, 
Then  fly  .to  Folly,  meet  your  Fate, 
And  welcome  all  newcomers : 
Don't  feel  for  one — or  flirt  with  two, 
But  whilst  Discretion  slumbers, 
Invoke  that  proverb  (old  but  .true) 
That  "  Safety  lies  in  Numbers !  " 

Keep  on  the  ever  lengthening  List 
All  sorts  and  all  conditions, 


92  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

For  even  one  fool  migh,t  be  missed 
"When  Passion  thus  petitions ; 
Set  traps  for  all  the  missing  men, 
Young  Dude  or  riper  Dandy, — 
And  even  a  Bald-head  now  and  then 
Perhaps  might  come  in  handy. 


Wrinkles  Versus  Roses.  93 


Mrtnfeles  Deraus  TRoses. 

(To  Katie  McR.) 

COME,  lassie,  let  your  lips  impart — 

In  softest  silence — what  your  heart 

Hath  learned  of  True  Love's  lore ; 

It  takes  no  weary  years  to  tell 

The  weight  and  worth  of  Passion's  spell, — 

And  "  Fourteen's  "  wiser  than  "  Fourscore." 

Roses,  not  wrinkles,  are  the  signs 
That  every  tender  heart  divines, 
Love's  hieroglyphic  riddle, 
That  aged  eyes  but  dimly  trace, 
Whilst  happier  youth — with  easy  grace — 
Soon  learns  by  heart — that  "  fiddle  " — 

Whose  chords  are  heart-strings;  or  the  girls 

Would  gran,t  this  Orpheus  their  curls 

To  make  the  music  better: — 

But  if  these  Dears — divinely  fair — 

You'd  ever  hope  to  safely  snare — 

Forge  fast  a — Golden  Fetter. 


94  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Though  Cupid  every  word  should  con 
In  Love's  last — largest  Lexicon, — 
But  lit.tle  help  his  wits  could  glean 
From  Wisdom — with  his  wisest  winks ; — 
Nor  trust  to  what  a  graybeard  thinks, 
But  let  your  guide  be — "  Swee,t  Sixteen." 

And  if  you  miss  your  Paradise, 

Your  heart  must  long  have  turned  to  ice, 

Or  palsied  passions  left  you  dry 

Of  all  the  stamina  and  pith 

That  you  should  need  if  dealing  with 

A  "  bonnie  lassie  " — not  too  shy. 

Graybeard,  beware  lest  you  should  fan 
A  flame  to  warm  some  luckier  man, — 
Some  Youth  less  shy  than  shifty ; — 
For  even  lassies  of  SIXTEEN 
Know  that  there's  little  left  to  glean 
From  the  "  bald  spots  "  of — FIFTY  ! 


The  Sage  of  Sunny-Side.  95 


GOLDEN-TIDE 


Cbe  Sage  of  5unns*St&e. 

THEY  tell  me  I  have  wit  enough 

To  grace  the  world  of  fashion, 

Where  all  is  in  the  "  style  "— no.t  "  stuff,"- 

And  pride  the  ruling  passion ; 

I  might  "  rub  elbows  "  with  the  great, — 

That  is— the  "  Stars  "  and  "  Garters  " 

Of  those,  whom  some  most  cruel  fate 

Makes  into  gilded  martyrs. 

If  I  would  cut  the  country  clowns, 
And  be  some  Dukeling's  dummy, 
With  coronets — if  not  with  crowns — 
I  might  grow  almost  chummy; — 
If  I  could  but  forget  to  blush, 
And  had  more  diamonds  than  deserts, 
In  famous  coverts  I  might  flush 
Some  faded  fair  who  still  are  flirts. 

Might  dance  attendance  at  some  fe.te 
IWhere  dames,  with  sixteen  quarterings, 


96  Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Hold  "  Blood  "  alone  can  compensate 
For  lack  of  many  better  things ; 
Might  even  reach  such  heights  as  these, — 
To  be  some  faded  Beauty's  beau ; 
Yes,  even  win  perchance  a  kiss 
From  cheeks  that  faded  long  ago. 

Kay !  let  your  worldlings  dance  their  jigs, 
Unraveling  empty  riddles ; 
I  envy  not  your  proudest  prigs, — 
Content  with  flowers  and  fiddles; 
Content  with  rustic  loves  and  lanes, 
With  merry  jokes  and  julips, 
Like  yonder  bee,  who  gets  his  gains 
From  clover — not  gay  tulips*. 

Loud  clappers  have  your  city  bells, 

Of  that  there  is  no  question, 

And  endless  feasts  leave  "  swollen  swells,,"' 

The  curse  of  indigestion! 

If  I  have  wit,  I'll  prove  it  best 

By  shunning  fools  of  fashion, 

And  that  cold  world — where  love's  a  jest, 

And  pride  of  pelf  life's  passion ! 


Saint  Sunny-Heart's  Shrii  97 


Saint  Sunns*1beart's  Sbrine. 

IN  the  hear.t  of  fair  Merry-Land  once  lived  a 

Xing, 

Crowned  with  but  roses  spring  after  spring; 
A  reed  was  his  scepter,  his  throne  was  of  straw ; 
Mirth  was  his  mandate, — and  Love  was  his  law : 
Laughing  and  quaffing,  kiss  after  kiss, 
Where  could  you  find  better  monarch  than  this  ? 

Business  was  banished,  Profit  accursed, 
Misery  vanished: — Hunger  and  Thirst — 
Envy  and  Hatred — Trouble  and  Tears; 
These  were  but  memories  left  of  old  years 
That  had  wasted  the  land  e'er  gracious  King 

Hilary 
Took  our  Saint  Sunny-Heart  out  of  the  pillory. 

Heavens !  of  old  how  the  tricksters  of  Trade 

Posed  as  our  Noblemen ; — titles  all  paid 

Cash  down  and  "  patented  " : — fools  .took  the 

•hint, 
Honor  and  power  could  come  from  the  Mint; 


98          Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Even  true  holiness  would  Heaven  refuse 
To  the  sinners  who  sa,t  in  the  silk-cushioned 
pews? 

What  was  respectable?    PRIDE  and  PRETENCE, 
Backed  by  the  wisdom  of  DOLLARS  and  CENTS. 
If  in  good  broadcloth  scamps  could  disport, 
Welcome  they  found  at  King  "  Moneybags'  r 

Court ; 

But  if  poor  Temperance  danced  in  her  rags, 
Down  came  a  legion  of  high  titled  hags, 
Stripp'd  to  the  waist,  save  scant  loopings  and 

lace, 

And  vowed  that  .to  show  her  bare  shins  was  dis 
grace. 

Fellows  whose  chief  aims  were  profit  and  pay, 
Molded  and  made  from  the  commonest  clay ; — 
Never  fused  by  the  fires-  that  out  of  its  dross 
Shows  at  last  in  the  furnace  the  glint  and  the 

gloss 

Of  the  Vase  that  shall  hold  as  a  chalice  divine 
The  gleam  and  the  glow  of  ithe  soul's  sacred 

wine; 

Not  a  "  Nobility,"  say  what  you  please, 
But  "  Ig-nobility  "  surely  were  these. 


Saint  Sunny-Heart's  Shrine.         99 

But  we  buried  "  Aurelian,"  the  old  King  of 

gold  ;— 
With  scant  prayer  and  less  pity  laid  him  under 

the  mold, 
Where  the  worm  eats  his  heart,  and  the  rust  eats 

his  crown ; 

And  over  his  monument  gibbers  a  clown 
Ever  laughing  and  quaffing,  for  though  Death 

may  be  Rest, 

After  all  for  the  living  the  lively  are  best ; 
Your  "  Dead  Lion  "  looks  in  an  Epitaph  well, 
But  bury  him  deep, — or  the  carcass  will  tell! 

After  "  Aurelian  "  came  "  Hilary  "  —King, 
And  his  are  the  stories  and  glories'  we  sing ; 
If  his  Crown  was  not  heavy,  his  Scepter  was 

light, 
And  his  motto  for  Merry-Land : — "  Roses  ara 

Right!" 
As  Grod  gave  us  flowers,   and   fragrance   and 

flame 
Of  the  sunlight  above    and    the    fruits  of  the 

same, 
So  the  Mandate  was — Mirth,  and  his  Mission 

was — Love, 
For  the  Gods  hide  no  hates  in  the  Heavens 

above. 


ioo        Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Let  Love  be  thy  guide,  even  Lust  by  the  way 
May  toy  with  the  blossoms  Chance  strews  in  his 

way. 

It  is  Hate  and  not  Love,  it  is  Lies  and  not  Lust, 
That  trample  the  flame  of  the  Soul  in  the  dust. 
Let  our  King  be  Hilarius ;  laughing  he  reigns, 
Every  bliss — every  kiss — counted  wisely  as 

gains : 
If  your  jealous  JEHOVAHS  grudge  Wit,  Woman 

and  Wine, — 
Instead  let  us  worship  at  Saint  Sunny-Heart's 

Shrine ! 


Light- Heart  Harry.  101 


Xfgbtyfbeart 

I'M  a  wanderer — on  the  wing,  never  sup  with 

Sorrow, 
Drink  to-day  from  roadside  spring,   sip  good 

wino  to-morrow; 
Never  walk,  but  ride  "  Shank's  mare  "  like  a 

Knight  benighted ; 
See,  the  goodly  "  arms "   I  bear,  motto  thus 

indited : — 

Light  of  heart  and  ligh,t  of  head, 
Never  mind  what  cares  ahead, 
Life  to  Love  is  plighted ! 

Never  tavern  found  or  town — that  I  ever  stayed 

in, 
Where,  without  a  single  crown,  couldn't  find  a 

maiden 
And  a  master  who  would  trust  such  a  merry 

fellow : 
Never  let  the  moments  ru&t,  maids  might  grow 

too  mellow : — 
I  may  miss  to-morrow's  chance, 


IO2         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

But  I'll  have  to-day  my  dance, 
Be  she  green  or  yellow. 

Temperate  tippling's  no  disgrace,  and  I  am  no 

bigot ; 
Mark  me,   master   Boniface,    never   spare  ,the 

spigot ; 
Hostess,  kill  the  "  fatted  calf,"  let  no  capon 

caper ; — 
If  I  never  pay  the  half, — just  discount  my 

paper. 

And  the  lassie  in  my  lap 
Knows  'twill  be  no  great  mishap ) 
If  I  should  escape  her. 

If  long  ere  to-morrow's*  sun  sink  on  land  and 

ocean, 
I  should  vanish,  as  he's  done  (sometimes  take 

the  notion), 
Leaving  all  my  debts  unpaid  and  the  sweet  lass 

fretting, 
Need  not  worry,  little  maid,  fas,t  you'll  learn 

forgetting : 

Love  we  know's  a  game  of  chance ; — 
Whether  dirge  or  whether  dance, 
Blindly  goes  the  betting. 


Light-Heart  Harry.  103 

Boniface  may  hold  as  lost  all  the  wine  I  wasted, 
And  mine  hostess  count  the  cost  of  the  feast  I 

tasted ; 
But  you  need  not  weep,  my  lass,  that  your  lad's 

a  rover, 
Many  a  better  one  will  pass  e'er  the  day's  half 

over: 

Cupidon  in  prison  shut, 
Or  with  pinions  curtly  cut, 
Couldn't  "  live  in  clover." 

Let  the  wicked  worldlings  damn  all  my  fun  and 

frolic ; 
Airs  and  graces  are  a  sham,  conscience  oft  but 

— colic ; 
I  am  light  of  heart  and  head, — but  by  no  means 

vicious ; 
Look  upon  the  wine  when  red,  think  swe:t  lips 

delicious : 

But  I  live,  let  others  live, 
Can  forget  and  can  forgiv 
Merry, — not  malicious. 

Thus  with  all  my  faults  confessed,  as  no  saint — 

but  sinner, 
Still  I  welcome  Love  as  gues.t,  share  with  dogs 

my  dinner; 


104         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Am  no  chafferer  or  churl,  trust  the  Gods  and 

Graces ; 
Love  the  flowers  that  unfurl  in  life's  hidden 

places : 

And  whatever  be  my  fate, 
Mark  me, — 'midst  the  Rich  and  Great, 
You'U  find  "  harder  cases." 


A  Lover  of  Good  Things.         105 


a  %o\?er  of  (Boob 


(may  his  paunch  increase 
With       long       libations  —  feasts       that     never 

cease  !  —  ) 

One  night  awoke,  —  for  surfeit  sorrow  brings, 
And  our  friend  had  stuffed  on  divers  things  — 
Dainty  but  indigestible:  in  the  soft  gloom 
Of  his  delightful  but  dim-lighted  room, 
Behold  a  Demon,  long-eared  as  an  Ass, 
Who  scribbled  scribe-like  in  a  Book  of  Brass. 

Unstinted  punch  had  made  Ben-Adam  bold, 
And  so  instead  of  cowering  scared  and  cold, 
He  thus  addressed  the  Ghost  or  Goblin  : 

Say  old  Fright, 
Why  wanderest  thou   around   so  restlessly   at 

night  ? 

And  what's  the  meaning  of  this  awful  scrawl  ? 
Jusit  "  hump  yourself,"  my  long-eared  friend, 

and  tell  us  all  ! 

The  Goblin  growled,  and  with  a  grunt  replied  : 
I'm  writing  up  the  list  of  those  good  men  who 

lived  and  died 


106         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

In  orthodoxy : — good — are  only  those 
Who  pay  their  tithes, — and  kiss  the  Papal  toes ; 
For  it  is  writ : — "  Alone  our  Gospel  saves !  " — 
The  Orthodox  die  sainted — though  they  lived  as 
knaves ! 


And  is  my  name  upon  your  list  ? — The  Goblin 

shook 

His  tonsured  head : — Nay,  not  in  our  Book ! — 
At  Heaven's  door  in  vain  the  best  man  knocks, 
Unless  he's  registered — as  of  the  Orthodox. 
There's  but  one  God,  one  only  God  redeems 
Even  the  veriest  scamp,  yet  wrecks  .the  guileless 

schemes 

Of  men  more  honest,  but  who  still  refuse 
To  worship  our  God, — Jehovah  of  the  Jews. 

Then  cried  Ben-Adam : — Though  your  God  I've 

missed, 

I  pay  no  tithes,  the  Pope's  ,toes  never  kissed, 
And  am  content  to  be  dissevered  and  dismissed 
From  all  ifche  frauds  and  fools  I  see  upon  your 

List ; — 
Just  make   this   note, — before  your  Highness 

"  wings  " 


A  Lover  of  Good  Things.         107" 

Back  to  your  "  fireside  " :— That  A.  B.  A.  is 

fond  of  all  good  things ! 
And  he  who's  fond  of  "  all  good  things  "  the 

Godheads  send 
Hath  still  some  right  .to  claim  the  "  God  of 

Good  " — as — Friend. 


io8         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


Uo  Silenus ! 

(A  "  GRACE  "  BEFORE  "  GRUB/") 

TASTES  differ,  that  is  nothing  new, 

But,  to  exactly  meet  your  wishes, 

I  know  that  nothing  else  will  do 

Save  Dirt-pies  served  in  dainty  dishes; 

Yet  even  vain  votaries  of  Venus 

Cover  their  cates>  with  prudent  icing ; 

Always  remember  this,  Silenus, 

That  "  smut "  requires  a  lot  of  "  spicing." 

A  little  "  muck  "  helps  things  to  grow, 
But  weeds  come  first,  and  you  must  thin  'em ; 
"  Old  cocks  "  like  you  should  never  crow 
On  Dunghills  with — no  Diamonds  in  'em. 
'Tis  true,  we  welcome  buxom  Beauty, 
And  Bacchus  brightens  our  tables, 
But  leave  to  "  scavengers  "  the  duty 
Of  cleaning  out  "  Augean  Stables." 

Demurely  veil  the  pictured  Passion ; 
To  strip  her  naked  were  a  pity : 


To  Silenus.  109 

Though  Fools  and  Follies  are  in  fashion 
With  pungent  puns  we'll  purge  the  city. 
Let  the  cowled  hypocrites  insist 
That  Love  is  but  a  luring  Lorey; — 
In  our  creed  the  Pleasure  missed — 
Is  what  shall  make  our  Purgatory. 


Some  bigots  hold  that  wit  and  wine 
Are  sins  against  the  brain  and  body, 
But  we  believe  it  good  to  join 
A  genial  "  toast  "  to  jovial  "  toddy  " ; — 
So  here's  to  Wine  that  makes  us  mellow 
And  (as  we  know)  our  prospects  doubles, 
And  here's  to  Wit,  the  merry  fellow, 
Who  helps  to  lighten  Wisdom's  troubles. 

Thus   "Mirth"    shall   "rule   the   roast,"    and 

Reason 

Grow  gay  though  always  standing  steady ; 
Pleasure  can  profit  us  in  season, 
And  Love  is  always — right  and  ready: 
No  Paradise  long  lost  I  paint, 
For  Truth  may  look  as  fair  as  this  is, 
Unless  Love  sours  to  a  Sain,t, 
And  Beauty  must  be  bribed  for  kisses. 


no         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Le.t  priests  and  parsons  fabricate 

Their  creeds  to  suit  their  predilections, 

Or  Science  even  relegate 

All  Sentiment  to — "  conic  sections  " ; — 

In  spite  of  Saint  and  Scientist, 

We'll  stick  to  our  time-honored  Ruling, 

That  -lips  were  but  made  to  be  kissed, 

And  that  there's  "  fun  "  in  Fancy's  "  fooling." 

The  Gods  are  not  a  gloomy  lot 

Of  "  Elohim," — fierce,  stern  and  cruel, 

Nor  will  they  damn  the  &age  as  sot — 

Who  adds  rich  grape  juice  .to  poor  gruel ; 

And  if  they  know  that  our  Hereafter 

Not  likely  to  be  endless  blisses, 

The  easier  they'll  forgive  Life's  laughter, 

Nor  damn  us  for  a  few  chance  kisses. 


The  Jolly  Old  King  of  Yyetot.     in 


TTbe  Soils  ©lo  Ikina  of  ]0x>etot 

THERE  lived  long  ago  as  we  know, 
A  jolly  old  King  in  Yve.tot ; — 
Not  in  scepter  and  crown, 
But  with  night-cap  and  gown — 
He  would  sit  in  his  palace  of  straw, 
And  administer — Liquor  and  Law : 
Better  king  there  was  none 
Since  the  world  was  begun, — 
Better  Monarch  no  man  ever  saw. 

Whether  champagne  his  tipple  or  beer, 

He  was  always  of  excellent  cheer ; 

Though  but  four  times  a  day 

Could  he  feast,  he  was  gay, 

And    grew    fat    and    funny    in    spite    of    his 

"  Diet " ; 

He  feared  no  rebellion  or  riot, 
For  his  Subjects  were  few, 
And  they  very  well  knew 
That  His  Jolly  old  Highness  loved  quiet. 

What  cared  he  for  Fame  and  such  "  Trump 
ery  "  ? 


H2         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Enough  to  be  "  King  of  His  Company  " ; 

For  his  belly — a  glass, 

For  his  bower — a  lass ; 

And  the  rest  he  would  leave  to  the  sinners 

Who  shared  his  debauches  and  dinners, 

Content  to  be  one 

Of  .the  Leaders  of  Fun, 

Though  the  Sages  migh.t  call  him  an  Ass. 

He  ne'er  put  hi&  pate  under  steeple, 
And  laughed  at  all  clerical  people ; 
But  the  little  he  had 
He  would  give — to  make  glad 
The  sorriest  subject,  who  needed  it  most : 
And  I  think  his  leal  "  Laureate  "  may  truth 
fully  boast 

That, — in  spite  of  his  sprees, — 
The  Lord  loves  such  as  these, 
And  won't  let  them  go  quite  "  to  the  bad." 

His  heart  was  too  liberal  and  large 

To  keep  but  one  Mispress  in  charge ; — 

"  There  is  safety  in  numbers,"  they  say, 

Said  this  Monarch  so  gallant  and  gay : 

So  he  slipped  about  town 

Without  scepter  or  crown ; — 

And  whe.ther  to  maiden  or  matron  he  went, 


The  Jolly  Old  King  of  Yvetot.     113 

He  was  certain  to  win  a  most  willing  consent; 
To  "  His  Highness  "  they  never  said  Nay. 


Thus,  with  much  better  reason  .than  most 

Royal  Heads, — he  could  honestly  boast 

That  he  really  was  "  Pater  Patrise," 

Or  tried  to  be  such,  as  you  see : 

Whether  blondes  or  brunettes, 

Whether  prudes  or  coquettes, 

He  was  willing  to  welcome  them  all  .to  his  arms, 

And  to  give  (when  he  had  them)  his  "  crowns  " 

for  their  charms, 
Such  a  liberal  ruler  was  he. 

~No  taxes  he  laid  on  the  "  Land," 

But  on  "Liquor"  (as  you'll  well  understand) 

Some  "  license  "  was  needed,  no  doubt, 

To  keep  it  from  all  leaking  out ; 

So  on  every  Brown  Jug 

He — would  levy  a — mug, 

And  drink  to  the  health  of  all  things  .that  are 

nice, 
From  kisses    "  on  fire  " — to    champagne    "on 

ice  " : 

With  his  chin  quite  atil.t, 
8 


H4         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

All  the  "  revenue  "  was  spilt 

In  an  opening — just  under  his — "  pug." 

A  Monarch  so  merry  was  this, 

So  fond  of  a  "  meal  "  or  a  "  miss," 

That  throughout  his  long  life 

The  sole  "  War  to  the  knife  " 

Was  against — not  John  Bull  but  his — beef, 

And  Turkeys — not  Turks  came  to  grief : 

No  "  new  leaf  would  he  turn  " 

For  wise-acres  to  learn; — 

Nqt  "  bodies' "  he  banished — but — Books ; 

His  Lord's — scullions, — his  Counselors — cooks, 

And  "  good  living  "  his  only  Belief. 

And  when  this  good  king  of  Yvetot 

Died, — as  kings  and  churls  mus.t  as  we  know, 

Strange  to  say  all  his  leal  subjects  cried 

Not  because  he  had  lived — but  had  died ; 

'Tis  not  often  that  llonarchs  are  missed 

By  even  the  lips  they  have  kissed, 

And  to  weep  for  them — one  of  the  rares>t  of 

things 

To  happen,  I  fancy,  to  the  Greatest  of  Kings — 
In  spite  of  their  conquests  and  pride. 


The  Jolly  Old  King  of  Yvetot.     115 

And  to  honor  his  memory  best, — 

After  laying  his  body  to  rest, 

A  portrait  they  made  of  his  "  mug/' — 

Representing  him  draining  a  jug; 

And   over   the    door — where   of  yore    a    bush 

showed 
Where    liquor    was    offered    to    lighten    life's 

load, — 

His  picture  was  hung ; — 
That  the  old  and  the  young 
Might  remember,  whenever  .their  "  spirits  "  ran 

low, — 
The  rum  reign  and  the  "  smiles. "  of  the  King  of 

Yvetot. 


n6         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


Watering  of  tbe  Sbamrocfc ! 

BUT  little  it  matters  to  us 

Where  St.  Patrick  was  buried  or  born, 
But  I'm  soire  such  a  "  jolly  old  cuss  " 

Must  sometimes  have  taken  a  "  horn," 
Else  the  spirit  would  never,  I'm  sure, 

Have  moved  him  to  scotch  all  the  snakes; 
For  he  did  it  no  doubt  to  secure 

His     "  lambs "     from    the    worst    woe    of 
"  wakes." 

When  he  first  "  wore  the  green,"  as  we  know, 

'Twas  a  Shamrock  he  s<tuck  in  his  hat, 
As  a  symbol  or  emblem  .to  show 

(And  I  think  you'll  confess  it  was  pat!) 
That  the  three  gladsome  Graces  of  Life — 

Wit,  Woman  and  Wine — was  his  text; 
Only  Hermits  who  turn  love  to  strife, 

With  such  a  sweet  theme  would  grow  vexed. 

But  Saints  not  so  sour  and  stern 
Won't  quarrel  with  sensible  creeds, 


The  Watering  of  the  Shamrock.     117 

And  even  good  Christians  can  earn 

Heaven's     help     without     "  counting    their 
beads  " ; 

A  venomless  wit  never  harms, 

And  "  Lachryime  Christi  "  revives : 

What  more  Heavenly,  sure,  than  the  charms 
Of  virtuous  and  vigorous  wives? 


Our  Saint  was  a  wide-awake  fellow — 
Not  given  to  sleep  the  day  through, 

But  up  when  the  East  was  still  yellow- 
He  could  scarcely  avoid  "  Mountain  Dew  " ; 

Do  you  think  when  he  stopped  at  some  shanty, 
Where  were  "  praties  "  alone  and  "  poteen," 

That  he  rudely  refused  ratipns  scanty, 
And  called  his  host's  liquor  unclean  ? 

Kay !   He  certainly  stuck  to  the  flagon, 

And  mixed  every  jorum  with  jokes, 
And  if  a  poor  girl  with  no  rag  on 

(Unlike  the  false  prude,  who  still  cloaks 
Her  sins  in  gay  silks)  bade  him  enter,' 

I'm  sure  he  would  never  decline, 
For  he  knew  that  no  Saint  could  prevent  her 

From  choosing  her  own  Valentine. 


n8         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

I  wish  that  St.  Pat  had  come  over 

From  Cork  some  few  centuries  back, 
Bringing  with  him  a  sowing  of  clover, 

And  Shillalahs  wherewithal  to  whack 
Every  snake  (be  it  viper  or  "  rattle  ") — 

Cutting  short  their  infernal  increase: 
It  would  help  both  poor  Christians  and  cattle, 

Who  might  then  live  in  clover  and  peace. 

Did  he  kill  all  the  snakes  (scotch  and  score  'em) 

Not  one  rattle-trap  leaving  behind, 
I  would  make  him  and  mix  him  a  jorum 

He  would  drink  till  his  blarney  grew  blind ; 
For  say  what  you  will,  a  mixed  whisky 

Is  the  spirit  that  moves  us  at  will, 
And  even  a  Saint  will  grow  frisky 

If  you  ice  it  and  spice  it  with  skill. 

Then  here's  to  St.  Patrick — the  soaker! 

Who  knew  that  "  still  waters  run  deep  " ; 
He  loved  both  a  jorum  and  joker 

To  help  him  his  vigils  to  keep ; 
He  scotched  all  the  snakes  (though  ''twas  risky) 

That  troubled  old  Erin  the  Green; 
That's  the  reason  why  good  "  Irish  whisky " 

Makesi  the  very  best  sort  of  "  poteen." 


True  Love  Always  Runs  Smoothly.    119 


Urue  Xov>e  1Runs  always  Smootbls ! 

WHO  said  that  "  True  love  roughly  runs  " 

Was  but  a  faithless  fellow, 
Or  argued  from  the  fickle  ones 

Whose  fancies  ne'er  grow  mellow ; 
Too  early  blossoms  nipp'd  by  frost — 

Or  fruits  too  soon  maturing, 
Green  fruitage  hardly  worth  the  cost 

Or  trouble  of  securing. 

True  love  is  not  the  fickle  boy 

With  roses  crowned  and  ringlets, 
Who  only  lures  us  to  destroy, 

And  shoulders  errant  winglets ; 
Who  plumes  his  feathers  for  new  flights 

With  every  change  of  season ; 
From  him  Doubt  steals  life's  best  delights, 

And  Time  betrays  each  treason. 

'Twere  better  said,  that  "  True  love  runs 
"  The  smoother  for  its  trueness  " ; 

And  he  who  fickle  Fancy  shuns, 
Not  lured  by  gilded  newness, 


I2O         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Trusting  but  hearts  that  housed  him  long, 

That  ay  gave  shelter  kindly, 
Will  find  that  love  but  grows 'more  strong 

From  loving  not  too  blindly. 

Who  said  that  "  True  love  never  ran 

As  smoothly  as  blind  passion," 
Had  only  studied  love  and  man. 

In  superficial  fashion ; 
Deceived  perhaps  by  those  nine  fools 

Who  woo  the  flirts  they  follow, 
Forgetting  that  by  Wisdom's  rule 

Nine  hearts  in  ten  are  hollow. 

True  love  is  not  the  offering  touched 

With  ever  hungering  fires, 
Whose  altar-cloth  is  smeared  and  smutched 

With  stains  of  loose  desires; 
True  love  is*  not  the  gift  that  brings 

Doubts,  sorrows  and  heart-burnings, 
Whose  sweets  are  fenced  about  by  stings, 

Like  hives  that  hoard  their  earnings. 

Nay !   True  love  smoothly  runs,  I  wiss, 

Fenced  well  from  all  disaster, 
Hope  ripens  to  the  richest  kiss 


True  Love  Always  Runs  Smoothly.    121 

And  Truth  is  Distrust's  master; 
Coquettes  may  scatter  golden  smiles, 

And  flints  their  favors  barter, 
But  hearts  untouched  by  Folly's  wiles, 

No  scourging  doubts  can  martyr. 

True    love    wears    myrtles    wreathed    with 
palms, 

And  brings  not  thorns,  but  roses; 
An  Eden  Kland  fenced  by  calms 

Prophetic  Hope  discloses ; 
There  Jealousy  can  find  no  food 

To  keep  his  fancies  lusty, 
And  Passion,  by  the  Graces  woo'd, 

More  tender  grows  and  trusty. 

Banish  this  boy  with  fickle  wings 

To  some  far  Purgaory, 
To  some  mos.t  barren  shore  where  sings 

A  lying,  luring  Lorey ; 
A  flippant  flirt  whose  sweetness  cloys — 

Coquetting  with  a  dozen ; 
Such  favors  may  content  the  boys 

She  likes  to  kiss  and  cozen. 

True  Love  is  no  such  fickle  friend 
As  this  young  cub  with  pinions, 


122         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Whose  court  a  host  of  frauds  attend 
From  Folly's  wide  dominions; 

Nay !    Love's  an  angel  robed  in  white, 
Whose  sanctity  can  leaven 

The  lusts  that  lure  us  with  delight, 
Transfiguring  Earth  to  Heaven ! 


The  Postern  ;  or,  the  Squire's  Quest.  123 


Ube  postern ;  or,  tbe  Squire's  Quest ! 

(From  the  German.) 

WEAEIED  and  worn  I  reach  at  last 

The  well-known  postern-door, 
And  find,  alas,  the  latch  is  fast, 

It  will  not  open  more ; 
But  lovers,  who  have  .trysts  to  keep, 

Will  laugh  at  bolts  and  bars : 
The  crumbling  wall  I  lightly  leap, 

Watched  only  by  the  stars. 

Arched  portal  of  the  castle  hall 

Is  not  where  I  slip  in; 
There  let  the  Knights  and  Nobles  all 

Flock  when  fine  feas,ts  begin ; 
Let  dandies  strut  with  nodding  plumes, 

And  dames  in  rich  attire : 
If  not  one  of  the  "  stable  grooms," 

I'm-  an  un-stable  "  Squire." 

The  high  and  haughty  Castellan 
Looks  down  on  Squires  like  me, 


124         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Yet,  certes,  the  gentle  lady  Anne 

Waits  at  the  trysting  tree. 
If  all  these  lords  and  ladies  fine 

The  proudest  "  portals  "  know, 
The  secrets  of  the  "  postern  "  mine, 

When  I  would  come  and  go. 

His  "  Highness  "  feasts  on  dainties  rare, 

And  rose-red  wine  he  sips, 
But  I — a  squire  only — fare 

On  beauty's  rosier  lips: 
The  honors  of  the  court  confer 

On  scamps  who  push  and  shove, 
But  modest  souls  like  mine  prefer 

The  heraldries  of  Love. 

Yea,  even  should  death  quench  this  flame 
Of  Youth's  too  short-lived  springs, 

My  modest  soul  would  hardly  claim 
The  heaven  reserved  for  kings; 

But  though  St.  Peter's  portals  shut, 
The  good  saint  kept  my  score, 

And  winking  at  me  just  said :  "  Cut 

Through  yonder  postern  door !  " 

"  This  portal  grand,  where  here  I  stand, 
Reserved  for  Power  and  Fame; 


The  Postern  ;  or,  the  Squire's  Quest.  125 

Here  everything  is  stiff  and  grand — 
.  And  tiresome  and  tame; 
But  yonder  little  postern  leads 

To  Edens  not  too  fine, 
Where  beauties  never  count  their  beads, 

And  Love  finds  Wit  and  Wine." 

Let  Glory  enter  at  the  grate 

Where  Grandeurs  stand  on  guard ; 
I  shall  not  grumble  at  my  fate 

If  from  all  fame  I'm  barr'd ; 
But  give  me  soft  content  that  brings 

The  peace  of  sunlit  days', 
And  Love,  who,  in  the  shadow  sings 

In  modest  Beauty's  praise. 


126         Songs  of  the  Sahkolmagas. 


Xacrimaz  Cbrfstt. 

(From  the  German.) 

IN  Highlands,  where  the  vineyards  give 

Draughts  always  sour  and  sharp, 
Of  old  a  minstrel  used  to  live, 

A  master  of  the  harp ; 
With  Emperor  Frederick  southward  went 

From  Alpine  heights  to  where 
The  Roman  roses  softly  scent 

The  sweet  Italian  air. 

Nay,  further  sunward  played  his  glees, 

Where  Naples  glittering  lies, 
A  city  shored  by  summer  seas, 

And  sheltered  by  soft  skies; 
There  first  from  rustic  vases  poured 

A  wine  so  rich  and  rare, 
Our  minstrel  felt  such  draughts  had  scored 

Glad  conquest  over  Care. 

For  this  rare  wine  like  music  thrills, 
Like  beauty's  blush  it  glows ; 


Lacrimae  Christi.  127 

Its  magic  from  all  hearts  distils 

The  best  Love  hopes  or  knows. 
Mine  Host,  what  wine  is  this  you  bring? 

The  happy  Harper  cries; 
One  drop  could  make  old  Satan  sing 

In  spite  of  all  hell's  sighs. 

Within  my  veins  I  feel  the  blood 

Of  "  twenty  "  pulse  once  more ; 
Life's  tides  again  sweep  at  the  flood, 

And  Hope  leads  on  before ! 
Stout  Boniface,  with  smiles  replies: 

This  wine  that  charms  and  cheers, 
Xursed  ever  'neath  God's  golden  skies, 

We  always  call  "  Christ's  tears." 

Our  minstrel,  gazing  on  the  draught 

That  seemed  to  flame  and  flower, 
Remember'd  wines  in  Highlands  quaffed 

At  home,  dry,  harsh  and  sour; 
This  vintage  of  his  Home  Land  hills 

With  puckering  lips  recalls, 
For  there  the  hoar-frost  often  chills, 

And  dim  the  sunlight  falls. 

But  this  rich  Wine  hath  sipped  the  sun 
From  March  to  soft  September, 


128         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

And  he  who  sees  its  rubies  run 

Can  only  Love  remember. 
Then  on  his  knees  the  minstrel  sank, 

And  raised  his  eyes  to  Heaven: 
Oh,  Lord,  to  Thee  I  now  give  thank 

For  .this  draught  sent  to  leaven 

Life's  bitter  crust ;  and  should  Christ  weep 

On  this  sad  earth  again, 
Oh,  let  him  tearful  vigils  keep 

Where  Highland  vineyards  stain 
My  memory  with  wines  so  sharp — 

They  brought  a  sense  of  pain, 
Dulled  the  glad  music  of  my  harp, 

And  soured  my  heart  and  brain. 
Oh,  dear  Christ,  give  us  "  Tears  "  like  this, 
And  Beauty's  smiles  we'd  hardly  miss ! 


Holy  Alliance  of  Love  and  Folly.    129 


1bol£  Blliance  of  %ox>e  ano  folly. 

(From  the  German.") 

THE  singer  of  a  summer  song 

In  rose-girt  garden  biding, 
Around  him  lads  and  lassies  throng, 

No  stern  duennas  chiding. 
Keep  quiet,  boys !  the  poet  cries, 

Give  heed,  Madge,  Myrtle,  Mabel ; 
The  Graces  should  become  more  wise 

By  studying  this  fable. 

In  this  lost  earth  of  ours,  left, 

By  chance,  strayed  far  Dan  Cupid, 
Of  all  his  heavenly  hopes  bereft, 

He  felt  both  sad  and  stupid. 
0,  hearken  to  my  prayers',  grim  Jove ! 

From  high  Olympus  banished, 
In  vain  through  this  vain  world  I  rove, 

Whence  Truth  and  Trust  have  vanished. 

With  all  of  Eden's  charms  adorned — 
Grace,  beauty,  wit  and  passion — 


130         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

'Tis  safe  to  say  I'm  never  scorned, 
Indeed,  I'm  quite  the  fashion ; 

But  though  I  rule  a  thousand  hearts, 
~No  harvest  'scapes  Time's  sickle; 

The  wiser  damn  my  rankling  darts, 
Declare  my  joys  all  fickle. 

The  sages  say  my  lures  are  cheats, 

They  leave  no  charms  unchidden, 
And  he  who  tastes  the  proffered  sweets 

Finds  love  the  "  fruit  forbidden  " ; 
Who's  gay  to-day  to-morrow  grieves, 

Who  "  makes  "  to-morrow  "  misses  "  ; 
Of  all  my  treasures  Prudery  leaves 

Not  even  Youth's  first  kisses. 

In  such  a  world  I  would  not  stay; 

~No  Promised  Land — no  Moses 
To  guide  me  by  some  sunlit  way 

From  thickset  (thorns  to  roses ; 
The  pearls  I  scatter  near  and  far 

They  say  are  only  pebbles ; 
The  Passions,  pilgrims  from  some  star 

More  fair  than  this,  are  rebels. 

Dan  Cupid's  grandpapa,  great  Jove, 
Hearkened  the  Love  God's  pleading. 


Holy  Alliance  of  Love  and  Folly     131 

Yet  knew  no  world  had  ever  throve 
If  barr'd  from  bliss  and  breeding ; 

So,  from  the  Halls  of  Heaven  he  sends 
To  earth  Love's  only  sister ; 

As  long  as  these  continue  friends 
Joy  reigns — -and  Cupid  kissed  her. 

And  who  is  she,  this  rose-lipp'd  maid 

Who  sings  and  smiles  so  gayly? 
The  roses  of  her  crown  may  fade, 

Yet  still  she  dances  daily; 
Wisdom  may  wear  a  robe  of  rags, 

Truth's  often  melancholy, 
But  this  maid's  tongue  forever  wags 

In  mirth ;  her  name  is  Folly. 

United  thus  by  Jove's  decree, 

Folly  and  Love  together, 
Even  Grief  in  gray  shall  fly  and  flee, 

And  clouds  bring  sunny  weather ; 
With  roses  crown  my  grizzled  hairs, 

No  "  death's-head  "  daunts  our  chances ; 
Give  Reason  rest  and  banish  cares — 

The  blind  mus,t  trust — blind  chances ! 


132         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


Horace.} 

LONG  since  Maecenas,  waiting  for  the  sign, 
Within  its  cask  hath  slept  the  ripening  wine; 
Balms  to  anoin,t  thee  shall  my  servants  bring, 
And  flowers  to  crown  thee  as  our  festive  King. 

Snatch    some    brief    pleasure    from    the    busy 

days,— 

The  dust  and  turmoil  of  the  City's  ways; 
From  ^sula  turn  and  Telegon's  blue  walls, 
And  Tiber — whitening  into  waterfalls1. 

Desert  the  Rich  who  give  but  empty  shows, 
And  seek  with  me  the  joys  of  wise  repose; 
Leave  Rome  behind  with  all  its  din  and  dust ; 
To  modest  Love  and  faithful  Friendship  trust. 

Even  a  Croesus  wearies  of  his  gilded  home ; 
'Tis  wrell  at  times  to  roam  from  even  Rome, 
Seeking  some  rustic  roofage,  where  expectant 

sits 
One  of  the  best  of  friends,  my  friend, — if  not 

of  wits. 


To  Maecenas.  133 

These  are  the  days  of  desolate  dust  and  drouth, 
When    Sol    grows    ardent — Sovereign    in    the 

South ; 

Andromeda's  star-crowned  sire  shines  revealed, 
And  Procyon  rages  o'er  the  azure  field. 

The  languid  shepherds  and  their  fleecy  flocks 
Seek  the  cool  shelter  of  the  woods  and  rocks, 
The  silent  margins  of  the  rivers  miss 
The  beckoning  flowers  and  the  winds  that  kiss. 

All  rest  save  thee  (on  cares  of  State  intent), 
Perplexed  \vith  troubles  of  a  Continent, 
Fearing  lest  by  the  factious  Don — or  Cyrus7 

realm — to-d  ay 
The    conquered    hosts    should    strive    against 

Rome's  wiser  sway. 

The  issues  of  the  future  the  wise  Gods  enshroud 
In  Night   impenetrable;   sunshine,   friend,   or 

cloud, 

Still  rest  with  Jove,  who  lets  no  mortal  scan 
Even  the  length  or  limits  of  life's  narrow  span. 

The  Present  heed,  and  its  due  value  weigh ; 
The    Future — endless — links    with    this    briei 
day; 


134         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Words,  thoughts  and  acts — the  drops  that  bit 

by  bit 
Add  to  the  Ocean  of  the  unknown  Infinite. 

What  human  prescience  can  foresee  the  course 
Of  one  chance  drop, — one  atom  of  life's  force  ? 
The  river  mirrors  but  its  narrow  banks,  and 

these 
Can  give  no  truthful  picture  of  Fate's  wider 

seas. 

The  river  ruffles  and  its  beauty  dies, 
For  calmest  waters  best  reflect  the  skies; 
Thus!,  too,  our  souls,  if  quite  at  peace  within, 
Best  mirror  Heavens  that  they  yet  may  win. 

Let  the  day  bring  its  treasures  or  its  tears, 
All  gifts  and  griefs  are  balanced  by  the  years ; 
What  has  been — Is,  what  shall  be — who  can 

shun? 
Strive  not — but  rather  say : — Thy  will  be  done ! 

Strive  not  with  Fortune  for  her  fickle  gifts, 
With  tides   she  changes   and  with  winds   she 

shifts ; 

Fair-faced  to  all,  yet  true  at  last  to  none ; 
Who  trust  her  most,  are  most  of  all  undone. 


To  Maecenus.  135 

Treat  her  in  kind;  if  she  gives  smiles — smile 

back; 

•But  do  not  sue  her  when  her  love  grows  slack ; 
Roofed  with  content,  with  Virtue's  modest  fare 
Let  Poverty — a  dowerless  bride — thy  cottage 

share. 

'Tis  not  for  such  to  weep  when  stormy  winds 

assail, 

And  the  bent  mast  is  shivering  in  the  gale ; 
Wealth  dares  the  waves,  wins  much  and  loses 

more; 
But  we — whose  share   a   shallop   holds — keep 

close  to  shore. 

Though  the  rich  galleys  wrecked,  still  wreckless 

to  the  last, 

I  bide  my  time,  and  wisely  dodge  the  blas,t: 
Through  the  ^Egean  storms,  led  by  the  sailor's 

sign, 
I  win  the  Haven,  and  Love's  modest  home  is 

mine. 


136        Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


Ube  TTtppler  s  Ttest. 

(Too-tonic.)  ' 

A  MEEEY  chase,  my  men,  was  ours 
To-day,  cried  Kobin  Hood, 
And  now  'neath  yonder  cloister-towers 
Gray  Monks  keep  vintage  good 
Stored  in  deep  cellars ;  let  us  test 
My  good  Lord  Abbot's  taste, 
And  if  his  wines  are  of  the  best 
We'll  never  let  them  waste. 

"  Yobiscum  Pax,"  most  Reverend  Sir, 

And  welcome  be  the  chance, 

After  long  chase  with  whip  and  spur, 

To  taste  red  wines  of  France; 

For  we  have  heard  your  cloisters  boast 

Of  draughts  that  none  surpass; 

My  merry  comrades  here  would  .toast 

Your  "  Lordship  "  in  a  glass. 

The  Abbot  bids  the  Cellarer  bring 
A  bumper  of  such  size, 


The  Tippler's  Test.  137 

It  circled  twice  around  the  ring, 

Though  each  bold  Huntsman  tries 

To  do  his  best  and  drink  it  out  . 

Down  to  the  very  lees ; 

But  though  each  drinker  dry  as  drought, 

Enough  for  ten  of  these. 

Then  spake  bold  Robin:  Better  draught 

No  King,  upon  my  soul, 

Hath  ever  .thirsting  thankful  quaffed 

Than  I  from  this  great  bowl ; 

And  if  there  be  a  Monk  on  Earth 

Who  can  this  bumper  drain, 

I  pledge  my  word  as  man  of  worth 

To  give  him  as  his  gain 

This  goblet  filled  up  to  the  brim 
With  weight  of  golden  coin. 
Thereon  a  Monk  steps  up  to  him, 
Broad  shouldered — large  of  loin — 
A  sturdy  felloAv  fit  to  swing 
Broad  battle  ax  or  blade 
In  conflict,  when  the  arrows  sing 
And  Knightly  lances  laid. 

"  But  prithee  give  me  time  to  pray 
Alone — a  little  space !  " 


138         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

So  spoke  the  Monk,  and  turned  away 

To  seek  some  quiet  place 

Perchance,  where  he  might  well  invoke 

Great  Bacchus,  God  of  Wine, 

For  emptying  such  a  bowl — no  joke 

As  you  might  well  opine. 

The  Abbot,  doubtful,  shakes  his  head; 

"  The  test  he  fears  to  stand !  " 

Bu,t  ere  a  good  half  hour  sped 

Our  Monk's  again  on  hand ; — 

He  grasps  the  bowl  and  lifts  it  up, 

Gulps  fast  and  drinks  it  dry; 

Looks  round  and  laughs,  sets  down  the  cup : 

Bravo ! — the  Hunters  cry. 

Astonished  stood  bold  Kobin  Hood, 

And  all  his  men  as  well; 

Some  magic  this  not  understood, 

The  working  of  some  spell. 

Asks  Eobin :  When  you  left  us  erst 

A  space,  perhaps  for  prayer, 

What  God  inspired  you  with  this  thirst 

That  ten  men  well  might  share  ? 

!N"ay!  Master  Robin,  simpler  far 
The  method  and  the  man : — 


The  Tippler's  Test.  139 

In  our  cellars  bumpers  are 

As  big  as  this  you  scan, 

And  one  of  these  I  first  drained  out 

To  gauge  my  gullet's  chance: — 

If  ever  of  one's  powers  in  doubt, — 

Why  test  them — in  advance ; 


140         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


ROSES  AND  RUE. 


3Lox>e's  Starlit  Boon ! 

As  wide  thy   sheltering  wings   extend, 
O  Night!  how  sweet  thy  shades  are; 
Thy  shadows  all  true  loves  befriend ; — 
Less  cold  the  shyest  maids  are, 
For  though  thy  stars  still  watch  above, 
They  are  in  league  with  all  who  love. 

Those  stars  are  sentinels  that  keep 

Long  watch  for  erring  lovers, 

For  hopes  will  slip  and  hearts  will  sleep; 

Though  Cupid  beats  all  covers, 

And  bags  the  game  (that's  his  of  rights) 

Always  most  readily  o'  nights. 

True  lovers  hail  the  sickle  moon, 
That  reaps  the  winrows  twinkling 
Of  stars — that  signal  Passion's  noon; 
And  we  have  all  an  inkling 
That  even  prudish  maids  would  kiss 
On  nights  as  dearly  dark  as  this, 


Love's  Starlit  Noon.  141 

Who  woos  by  day  may  miss  his  mark, 

And  never  find  a  lady, 

But  if  you'll  bide  discreeter  Dark 

In  bowers  shy  and  shady, 

The  haughtiest  maid  (in  such  eclipse) 

May  breathe  her  soul  out  on  your  lips. 

If  Danaesi  you're  content  to  win, 

Choose  sultry  hours  and  sunny, 

Wear  all  your  bravery  and  begin 

To  measure  out  the  money ; 

Maidens  there  be — ^fair,  proud  and  cold — 

Who  yet  have  given  themselves  for  gold. 

But  if  some  fair  Fidelia,  sweet, 

Hath  touched  your  heart  and  fancy, 

And  you  would  make  her  pulses  beat 

Through  Cupid's  necromancy, 

Then  choose  the  hours — when  stars  above 

Announce  the  shadowy  ISToon  of  Love. 


142         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


ZCbat  Sweet  Worfc— "  ©urs ! " 

METHINKS  in  days  now  fading  far 
Into  dim  memory's  retrospect, 
When  every  eve  saw  Love's  bright  star 
Lighting  the  lands  we  recollect, 
That  you  and  I  were  then,  my  dear, 
Neighbors,  both  neighborly  and  near. 

Ah !  then  it  was  your  reign  of  roses — 
Full  twenty  golden  years  ago, 
And  boyhood  hardly  needs  a  Moses 
To  guide  him  to  that  Land,  you  know, 
That  Land  of  Promise  and  Proposal, 
Where  Beauty  stands  at  Youth's  disposal. 

I  was  a  country  lad,  and  you 

A  lassie  rustic  quite  and  rosy ; 

In  those  days  I  was  "  green  " — not  "  blue," 

And  doubtless  often  pert  or  prosy; 

But  now  I  loved  and  what  befell 

Your  blushes,  dear,  perhaps  might  tell. 

There  ran  a  shallow  brooklet  brown 
And  clear  between  your  farm  and  ours, 


That  Sweet  Word—"  Ours."       143 

Whose  waters  rippling  softly  down 

Were    fenced    with    ferns    and    fringed    with 

flowers ; 

And  though  you  stood  on  t'other  side, 
The  distance,  dear,  was  not  so  wide. 

A  lambkin  could  have  leaped  that  brook, 

A  willow  wand  could  arch  it  over, 

Yet  you  and  I  would  only  look — 

Not  leap — scant  breadths  of  corn  or  clover: 

Was  it  some  lack  of  wish — or  wit — 

That  kept  me  still  from  crossing  it  ? 

But  buds  to  blossoms  burgeon  out, 
And  rivulet  ripens  into  river: — 
Love,  that  arch  Archer,  none  can  doubt 
Keeps  arsenal'd  arrows  in  his  quiver, 
And  soon  or  later  feathers  a  shaft 
To  strike  and  drive  the  dullest  daft. 

So  I,  though  not  quite  shallow — shy, — 

Dim-visioned,  too,  began  to  find, 

ISTot  what  the  doubting  damsels  sigh 

(That  Love  is  lame  and  Beauty  blind !), 

But — that     where     Friendship     limps — Love 

leaps, — 
That  Passion  wakes  when  Prudence  sleep. 


144         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Before  Love's  rosy  reign  began, 

How  often,  as  a  rustic  rover, — 

Your  Father's  fields  I  used  to  scan, — 

The  tass'ling  corn — the  purpling  clover — 

The  brooklet's  fringing  flowers  so  tall, — 

Yet  somehow  missed  the  best  of  all. 

But  one  day  you  that  side — I  this, 

I  faltering  still  and  you  shy  smiling, — 

Perhaps  at  fancies  dull  men  miss 

(For  girls  are  subtle  and  beguiling), 

You  hardly  chary  with  your  chaffing, 

Yet  love  seemed  lurking  in  your  laughing. 

And  I,  though  with  some  churlish  doubts. 
Prepared  to  hold  (still  looking  over) 
That  even  when  a  maiden  pouts 
Such  lips  would  lure  bees  cloyed  with  clover  ;- 
That  eyes,  now  melting  and  now  mocking, — 
Kept  all  love's  sweetest  fancies  flocking! 

That  day,  no  doub,t  in  ambush  lying, 
Love  lurked  and  spied  the  youthful  couple; 
He  saw  your  smiles  and  heard  my  sighing, 
Then  bent  his  sinewy  Bow  and  souple; 
Swift — right  and  left — two  arrows  flit, 
And  lad  and  lassie  both  were  hit. 


That  Sweet  Word— "Ours."      145 

There  grew  a  rampant  briar  beside 
The  brooklet's  border,  leafy  bowers 
With  long  sprays  tossing  wild  and  wide, 
And  scores  of  flushed  and  fragrant  flowers; 
And  the  fair  lass  made  fruitless  quest 
For  one  rose — crowning  all  the  rest. 

She  could  not  reach  it,  though  her  arms 
Stretched  half-way  that  brown  brooklet  o'er, 
Whilst  I  took  time  to  con  the  charms 
That  somehow  I  had  missed  before ; — 
Such  Rose  to  rape  needs  over-reaching, 
And  Love  asks  but  short  time  for  teaching. 

I  sprang  to  aid  her,  but  she  pouted ; 
Abashed  I  stood  with  doubts  debating, 
My  budding  hopes  fade  fast — thus  flouted: 
What  sharper  pang  than  wasted  waiting? 
Ah !  Love  is  such  a  timorous  thing, 
That  every  trifling  doubt  can  sting. 

Though  thus  my  passion  seemed  impeached, 

Some  hopeless  courage  mustering, 

Up  to  the  roses  ripe  I  reached, 

Amidst  their  leaves  close  clustering; — 

I     seized     them,     cried: — Here,     take     your 

flowers !  " 
She  smiled  in  answer : — call  them — "  Ours  " ! 

II 


146         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Not  "  hers  "  but  "  ours  " : — how  in  me  stirred 

A  pulse  that  gladdened  into  glees, 

And  like  the  singing  of  a  bird — 

When  Spring  is  garlanding  the  trees, 

My  lips,  that  still  some  doubt  deters, 

Kept  whispering  only : — "  ours  " — no.t  "  hers  " 

But  waking  wits,  that  bliss  had  dazed, 
Guided  me  from  that  soft  eclipse, 
And  half  afire  and  half  amazed, 
I  solved  the  riddle  on  her  lips, 
And  there,  amid  green  corn  and  clover, 
Oon'd  the  sweet  lesson  ten  times  over. 

Yes !  after  that  no  rose  was  hers 
That  was  not  mine! — we  shared  together 
Life's  blossoms  (sometimes  too  the  burs), 
One  roof  in  clear  or  cloudy  weather 
For  both :  ah !  who  forgets  the  powers 
Love    grants    to    that    sweet    word    called — 
"  Ours  "  ! 


Crowned  Slaves.  147 


Crownefc  Slaves! 

MOCK  lovers,  if  you  choose,  who  sigh, 
But  how  can  Hope  live  if  Love  should  die  ? 

Sweet  Love,  that  teaches  soft  consent 
To  wooings  of  some  kindred  soul  ? 
Hope  is  the  Pilot, — Love  the  "  Pole  " 

That  points  the  happy  continent 
Towards  which  some  set  their  sails  in  vain ; 

For  there  are  rocks  and  wrecks  to  dare. 

Luck  is  too  lean  for  all  to  share, 
And  few  shall  reach  that  "  Flowery  main  " ; 
Yet  though  the  skies  so  seldom  fair, 

And    wicked    waves    their    white    teeth 
show, 

I'd  dare  the  fiercest  winds  that  bio 
To  win  that  Haven  over  there — 

Where  Beau,ty, — fair  as  the  flowers  of 
Spring, 

Crowns  slaves  as  Glory  crowns  no  king. 


148         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


%o\>er's  Quarrels! 

(From  the  German.) 

OKIES  Madge  to  Mart:  Forever  we  leave  to 
meet  no  more, 

'Tis  best  at  once  to  sever;  wipe  out  the  shame 
less  score; 

Or,  keep  your  Nineteen  steady  and  let  the 
Twentieth  part, 

As  yet  I  am  not  ready — to  share  so  large  a 
heart. 

Until  this  old  pine,  darkling,  where  once  we 

made  our  vows, 
Shall  show  red  roses  sparkling  upon  its  dusky 

boughs, 
We  part: — The  word  was  spoken;  he  left  her 

with  a  groan, 
For  roses,  as  a  token,  on  pine-trees  never  known. 

She  closed  the  sash,  that's  certain,  she  even 

slammed  the  door, 
Pulled  fiercely  down  the  curtain,  in  fact  she — • 

almost  swore. 


Lover's  Quarrels.  149 

Next  day  that  way  returning,  and  glancing  at 

the  pine, 
Lo !  like  Love's  beacon  burning,  its  boughs  with 

blossoms  shine. 

A  score  of  ripened  roses  tied  on  with  ribbons 
blue, 

The  door  once  locked — uncloses,  the  curtain 
goes  up  too; 

And  there  in  shade  half  hidden,  like  may- 
blooms  in  arrears, 

A  lover's  lips  unchidden  kiss  away  a  lassie's 
tears. 


150         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


faintest  wish  that  Love  might  whisper 
To  ears  attuned  to  dainty  dalliance; — 
No  over-zealous  vim  and  valiance, 
But  fireless  fancies — one  might  lisp  a 
Diffident  virgin  of  not  over 
Some  fifteen  summers, — fair — bu,t  fruitless; 
Passion  still  an  "  air  plant  " — rootless, 
Waiting  for  that  romantic  rover 
Whose  kisses  ripen  and  make  ready 
The  happier  harvest: — thus  to  her  gently 
(As  to  a  saint) — speak  reverently, 
Nursing  your  faith — long  grown  unsteady : 
Nor  teach  too  soon  this  flower  of  Heaven, 
That  Love's  sweet  fruit — needs  earth  for  leaven. 


Dark  Eyes  and  Hours.  151 


Barft  ]££es  anfc  Tbours* 

VIOLET  eyes  and  cheeks  of  rose, 

Cherry  lips  that  soft  unclose 

Revealing  pearly  teeth, — Heaven  knows! 

Are  charms  to  win  an  anchorite; 

But  ebon  locks  and  soft  brown  eyes, 

Pale  cheeks  on  which  a  shadow  lies 

Like  the  starred  dusk  of  fading  skies, 

Can  tune  our  hearts  to  new  delight; 

And  lead  us  from  the  gilded  glare 

Of  Day  to  dim-lit  bowers  where 

Love's  stars  shine  through  the  silvery  night. 

Love  is  a  jealous  God,  who  shuns 

The  Gardens  lit  by  golden  suns : — 

Dark  eyes — and  hours — are  his  by  right. 


152         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas." 


/IDore  iprufcfsb— Uban  pruftent. 

SHE  looked  up  and  laughed  and  she  looked  down 

and  blushed, 

And  her  red  lips  she  closed  tight  together, 
As  much  as  to  say — that  the  thing  should  be 

hushed, 

Sheltered  safe  from  the  wind  and  the  weather ; 
Whatever  it  might  be,  no  game  should  be  flushed 
Unless  'twere  in  Hymen's  own  heather ; 
She  didn't  feel  sure,  but  stray  footsteps  had 

crushed 

Some  faint  feeling — or  was  it  a  feather  ? 
At  any  rate,  what  is  the  value  of  speech 
When  a  blush — or  a  touch  or  a  soft  sigh  can 

teach, 

Whilst  the  tongue  in  a  tangle  would  get  you? 
Oh,  sly  laughing  lassie,  but  keep  within  reach, 
With  your  lips  like  red  cherries,  your  blush  like 

a  peach, 
Sure  my  kisses  will  never  forget  you. 


Immortelles.  153 


immortelles, 

THOUGH  Love  pilfered  every  rose 
That  or  Earth  or  Eden  knows 
(Blossoms  whence  sweet  nectar  drips!), 
He  could  never  mate  your  lips. 

Though  the  violet  in  the  shade, 
And  the  pansies  lent  their  aid, 
Though  Love  stole  from  April  skies? 
He  could  never  match  your  eyes. 

Not  all  the  blooms  of  OTTABAY 
Can  compare  with  you  to-day,— 
You — the  fairest  flower  that  brings 
Memories  sweet  of  sun-kissed  Springs. 

Barren  Winter — Bitter  Death, — 
Shall  not  chill  you  with  their  breath; 
Ere  the  smiling  Summer  dies, 
Angels  errant  from  the  skies, 

Tempted  by  such  rare  perfume, 
Shall  transplant  you  from  my  tomb, 
And  in  Heaven's  happier  air 
You  shall  blossom  ever  fair: 


1 54         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Like  the  Saintly  Lilies  shown 
Whitening  round  the  golden  Throne, 
Breathing  forth,  as  Mercy  must, 
Tender  fragrance  o'er  my  dust. 

In  my  grave  enough  of  bliss 

That  you  send  a  scented  kiss: 

Touched  by  such  a  deep  desire 

Even  ashes  turn  to  fire, 

And  in  flames  of  incense  rise 

To  share  the  sunshine  of  Love's  skies. 

Yea!  were  Eden  twice  as  fair, 
I  should  miss  you,  darling,  there; — 
Better  dust — where  blossoms  are — 
Than  Faith's  Heaven  without  Love's  Star. 


Prim  Rose.  155 


HMrfm  1Rose ! 

SHE  was  no  doubt  quite  rosy, 
And  Rose  they  called  her  too, 
Yet  I  found  her  rather  prosy, 
Indeed  a  little — "  blue  " ; 

And  should  I  give  her  such  a  name 

As  just  her  mind  or  manner  shows, 

I  think  the  little  maid  might  claim 

The  Prude's  prsenomen — of — "  PKIM  KOSE.' 


156        Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


BUT  yesterday  I  loved  you,  dear, 
Indeed,  the  matter  seemed  so  clear, 
I  told  you  all  about  it ; 
But  lately,  to  my  great  regret, 
I  fell  in  love  with  Lou,  Lisette; 
Hard  fact,  though  you  may  doubt  it. 

Your  eyes  were  brown,  her  eyes  were  blue, 
And  she  was  charming  (so  were  you), 
Alas !  I  would  she  were  not ; 
I  know  ',tis  fickle  thus  to  veer, 
But  you  are  distant,  she  is  near, 
And  only  cold  hearts  err  not. 

Your  lips  were  rosy  (hers  are  too), 
And  when  I  kissed  her  first, — kissed  Lou, 
Half  yours — half  hers — her  graces  seemed; 
She  has  your  winning  ways  and  wiles, 
She  sighs  like  you,  like  you  she  smiles, 
And  kissing  her,  of  you  I  dreamed. 

If  I  love  Roses  wet  with  dew, 
Shall  I  not  like  the  Lilies  too  ? 


Brown  Eyes  and  Blue.  157 

Each  of  their  kind  the  fairest ! 

'Twere  false  to  both  to  love  but  one; 

To  both  kind  Heaven  sends  shower  and  sun, 

With  scents  and  tints  the  rarest. 


I  haven't  a  doubt  but  that  you'll  pout, 
Lock  up  your  love,  and  turn  me  out 
Of  the  heart  that  used  to  house  me  ; 
But,  sweet  Lisette,  I  love  you  yet, 
Your  soft  brown  eyes  I  cannot  forget, 
the  charms  that  used  to  rouse  me. 


In  the  future,  perchance,  we  yet  may  meet, 

When  blue  are  forgotten  and  brown  eyes  greet 

The  prodigal  lover  —  returning  ; 

If  so,  there's  no  doubt  that  in  lieu  of  Lou, 

Lisette,  I  shall  once  more  be  wooing  you 

In  spite  of  your  spite  and  spurning. 

For  believe  me,  my  heart  is  no  narrow  niche 

For  only  a  single  Saint  ;  such  pitch 

Of  Monotheism's  too  tight  a  te.ther  ; 

I  love  brown  eyes  as  well  as  blue, 

To  both  Lou  and  Lisette  my  heart  is  true, 

Adoring  —  both  together. 


158         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

It  were  singular  surely  (the  pun  may  pass) 

To  love  always  and  only  a  single  lass, 

And  to  love  her  willy-nilly ! 

But  whatever  others  may  say  or  do, 

I  know  I  can  safely  worship  two, — 

And  I  love  both — Rose  and  Lily. 


Love's  Merry  War.  159 


Xove's  flDerrs  Mar, 


COME,  strip  away  these  jealous  frills 

And  folds  that  hide  thy  graces; 

Love  needs  no  lawns  and  laces 

When  passion's  fever  throbs  and  thrills 

In  hearts  consumed  by  fond  desires: 

To  such  the  most  enticing  charms 

Are  those  that  come  with  "  naked  arms  " 

To  wage  such  "  Merry  War  "  —  as  fires 

N\>  soul  with  hate.     N"o,t  over  graves, 

But  gardens  gay  our  white  flag  waves 

A  welcome  to  all  wooers  true. 

Xot  freedom  True  Love  ever  craves,  — 

For  here  the  happiest  are  the  slaves 

Who  hug  their  chains,  —  as  lovers  do. 


160         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


Xove  ant)  Strife, 

THE  Past  is  as  dead  as  the  flowers 
Whose  fruitage  the  seasons  make  sweet, 
Not  April,  with  all  of  her  showers — 
Not  August's  full  harvest  of  heat — 
Can  bring  back  those  vanished  perfumes, 
And  the  glory  and  grace  of  dead  blooma 

The  apple-buds,  dimpled  in  May-time, 
That  lured  the  striped  bees  from  their  hives, 
Soon  faded  away  like  the  play-time 
That  gilds  the  fresh  dawn  of  short  lives, 
And  the  petals,  like  rose-dreams  of  lust, 
Lie  shredded  and  shriveled  in  dust. 

The  Dawning  comes  flashing  with  glory 
From  the  verge  of  a  shadowless  Day, 
But  we  know  'tis  the  often-told  story : — 
Our  lives  and  our  loves  gather  gray, 
And  darken  and  die  like  an  ember 
Quenched  under  cold  snows   of  December. 

Not  the  strength  of  the  Titans,  up-heaving 
Their  shoulders  like  mountains,  could  check 


Love  and  Strife.  161 

Time's  "  Juggernaut  Wheel,"  that  is  leaving 
The  World  and  its  worms  but  a  wreck, 
Pressing  out  from  ripe  lives  the  red  wine 
Of  the  woes  Death  may  render  divine. 

The  Gods  shall  forget,  in  a  measure, 
The  curses  Immortality  brings; 
They  shall  taste  for  a  moment  the  pleasure 
That  is  sweeter  because  of  its  stings; 
But  the  hoariest  virtues  of  Heaven 
Shall  leave  us  but  sorrows  as  leaven. 

With  the  blood  that  is  seething  and  subtle 

They  shall  quicken  their  rusty  old  brains; 

Lust  and  Love  weave  a  web,  with  Time's  shuttle, 

Too  dark  to  show  clearly  all  stains, 

And  .the  passions  of  Paradise  bring 

With  their  sweets — thorns  that  rankle  and  sting. 

They  shall  madden,  like  mortalsi,  forgetting 
The  weight  of  the  glories  they  bear; 
Proud  Goddesses,  moved  to  coquetting, 
Shall  seem  to  the  Gods  doubly  fair, 
Whose  ichor  shall  gather  some  glow 
From  the  lures  of  such  loves  as  we  know 

Touched  by  fires,  undreamed  of  before, 

The  snows  of  Olympus  shall  melt; 
II 


162         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

The  blisses,  ungarnered  of  yore', 
Kipening  now — shall  be  fathomed  and  felt, 
And  the  light  loves  to  Mankind  once  given 
Thrill  the  Gods — nodding  nobly  in  Heaven. 

Do  I  envy  the  Gods  ? — No.t  a  tittle ! 
Olympus  is  white  with  its  years! 
My  strivings  may  seem  to  them  little, 
But  pleasures  take  measure  from  tears: 
Without  Strife's  quick  parry  and  thrust, 
The  Sword  of  the  Soul  would  soon  rust. 

Even  Love  hath  no  fountain  unfailing, 
Yielding  draughts  of  unending  delight; 
The  Goddess  forever  unveiling 
Her  charms,  shall  the  ages  not  blight? 
Nay!  The  flower  that  never  fades,  misses 
The  ripening  fruition  of  blisses. 

Yes,  even  the  Gods  must  grow  jaded 

If  no  changes  for  better  or  worse ; 

Let  me  live  'til  life's  blossoms  have  faded, 

But  a  surfeit  of  sweets  is  a  curse •:-* 

And  he  but  a  laggard  who  shares 

The  World's  kisses — yet  blind  to  its  cares. 


A  Puzzle  in  Petticoats.  163 


H  ]pU33le  in  petticoats ! 

BKOWN  eyes  full  of  shadowy  gleamings 
Soft  as  twilights  tha,t  whisper  in  June, 
Sweet  eyes  wherein  all  of  my  dreamings 
Seem  bathed  in  the  light  of  May's  moon; 
Lips  jubilant  now  with  Joy's  laughter, 
And  now  all  a-tremble  with  bliss : — 
First  the  sunshine  of  gladness,  and  after — 
The  shadows  that  shelter  a  kiss. 

Soft,  bonny,  brown  hair — with  a  ripple 

Where  all  its  gloom  turns  into  gold, 

Like  the  dark  wines  of  Chios,  whose  "  tipple  " 

Gladdened  pagans  and  poets  of  old; 

Eyes  soft  with  the  shadow  of  sadness, 

Like  dusk  on  a  slumberous  sea, 

Yet  lips,  whereon  Mirth — in  her  madness — 

Laughed  like  Love — when  his  wings  flutter  free. 

Sad  eyes  and  glad  lips  thus  together 
Only  mocking  the  queries  we  make, 
Whether  frolicsome  Fairy,  or  whether 
A  sad-hearted  Saint  for  love's  sake; 


164         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Are  there  tears  hidden  under  those  lashes  ? 
Are  there  smiles  lurking  under  those  lips? 
Embeis  glow  under  cover  of  ashes, — 
Flowers  ftash  where  the  precipice  dips! 

Is  this  gladness  but  mocking  and  masking  ? 

Is  this  sadness  but  semblance  of  woe  ? 

Scant  answers  I  get  for  my  asking, 

Smiling  lips  saying  "  yes!  " — sad  eyes  "  no!  " 

And  yet  there  is  pleasure  in  guessing 

At  riddles  so  subtle  as  this; 

Doubt  at  times,  it  is  true,  is  distressing, 

But  Certainty  might  not  prove — bliss. 

I  doubt,  for  the  heart-strings  are  hidden, 
And  the  ear  of  life  dull  to  their  tones; 
Peer  not  in  the  Darkness  Forbidden 
Where  the  Past  keeps  her  moldering  bones! 
There  rises  a  wraith:  say,  what  was  it? 
Dead  loves  or  dead  lusts  that  arose  ? 
Lock  the  door  of  Life's  "  skeleton  closet " 
Lest  you  wake  the  grim  ghos,ts  of  old  woes. 

I  doubt, — but  not  beauty  like  this  is, 
I  doubt, — but  not  graces  like  these ; 
Then  give  me,  oh !  give  me  your  kisses, 


A  Puzzle  in  Petticoats.  165 

And  your  heart  you  may  share  as  you  please! 
I  would  win  you,  if  but  for  a  season 
To  gladden  my  heart  as  with  wine, 
That,  though  it  may  unsettle  Reason, 
Brings  dreams — that — if  false — seem  divine- 

Your  heart  may  be  heavy  or  hollow, 
Nay !  some  I  have  known  wh<j  had — none ; 
But  the  lure  of  your  lips  I  would  follow 
As  the  meteor  fast  follows  the  *Jun. 
Those  eyes  may  be  sad  with  a  yearning 
For  a  lover,  or  a  score  of  them,— lost ; — 
That  heart  (if  you  have  one) — be  burning 
For  some  scamp  you  adored  to  your  cost. 

Brown  eyes,  with  tears  under  their  lashes, 
Red  mouth,  laughter  laid  on  its  lips, — 
Your  heart  may  be — "  ashes  to  ashes," 
And  your  innocence  dark  wi,th  eclipse ; 
But  I  turn  to  you  still  with  a  yearning 
That  only  your  kisses  can  still, 
And  my  heart,  whilst  it  breaks,  is  still  burning 
AYith  the  poisonous  sweets  you  distil. 

I  would  pluck  you  as  Hope'  plucks  the  Flower 
Whose  thorns  leave  incurable  scars; 


1 66         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

I  would  win  you,  if  but  for  one  hour 

To  brighten  Life's  night  with  Love's  stars. 

I  doubt, — but  not  beauty  like  this  is, 

I  distrust, — but  not  graces  like  these; 

Then  give  me,  oh!  give  me  your  kisses, 

And  your  heart  you  may  share  as  you  please! 


The  Violet's  Appeal.  167 


Wolet's  Bppeal. 

(From  the  German.} 

CAME  a  lassie  fair  as  day, 
Walking  down  a  country  way 
Where  sweet  blossoms  met; 
By  the  roadside  in  the  grass, 
Near  where  dozens  daily  pass, 
Bloomed  a — Violet. 

Said  the  lassie:  Here  I  know 

Daily  dozens  come  and  go, 

As  I  often  do; 

See  this  Violet  up-thrust, 

Covered  deep  with  grime  and  dust, 

Shows  her  bonnet  blue. 

Sighed  the  maid:  Some  day  a  cow 
May  come,  sweet,  as  I  do  now, 
Browsing  on  thy  bloom ; 
From  such  fate  my  hand  shall  wrest 
All  thy  beauty ;  on  my  breast 
Perish  in  perfume. 


1 68         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

But  the  Violet  replies : — 

Insincere  are  all  thy  sighs, 

Let  me  rest  in  peace : — 

If  of  browsing  cows  afraid, 

That's  no  worse  fate  than  to  fade — 

Plucked  by  girls — or  geese! 


Limited  Liabilities  and — Abilities.  169 


SLimitefc  ^Liabilities  an&— Abilities, 

(To  one  of  the  gigantic  Graces.) 

MUCH  too  liberal  for  my  taste 
Are  such  super-human  Graces; 
With  such  endless  worlds  of  waist — 
Who  would  dream  of  fond  embraces?  - 
Dared  we  yield  to  such  Titanic 
Tenderness  as  that  heart  covers, 
Should  she  even  pout — a  panic 
Would  o'erwhelm  her  pigmy  lovers. 

Or,  to  put  the  matter  mildly, 
Let  us  say,  instead  of  kissing, 
She  should  hug  one  of  them  "  wildly," 
There  would  he  a  lover  "  missing  " : — 
Lo!  what  limbs — what  mighty  muscles! 
Molded  firm  and  f air ;  behind  .them 
Lusty  curves  that  need  no  "  bustlesi," 
Where,  alas !  so  oft  we  find  them. 

Liberal  charms  she  hath  and  lavish, 
Bounteous  breasts  and  length  of  limb, 


1 70         Songs  ot  the  Sahkohnagas. 

But  those  lips  that  mine  would  ravish. 
Rise  above  me  far  and  dim : — 
Whom  a  Goddess  loves — ere  soaring 
To  the  level  of  her  lips, — 
Let  him  take  good  heed  lest  scoring 
Victory  should  but  quite  eclipse 

His  faint  flame  in  that  large  luster 
Which  the  Gods  can  face  alone ; — 
Rash  the  mortal  who  would  trust  her, 
And  unclasp  a  Dian's  zone: — 
Love,  whose  flame  a  Goddess  kindles, 
All  consuming  leaves  me  lost, 
And  my  mortal  passion  dwindles 
When  I  come  to  count  the  cost. 

Safer  far  than  Grace  or  Goddess, 
Is  some  maiden  frail  and  fond, 
Who,  when  you  unlace  her  bodice 
(Whether  she's  brunette  or  blonde), 
Does  not,  though  she  hug  you  tightly ,- 
Hugging — take  away  your  breath ; 
But  a  Goddess  ravished  rightly 
Soon  would  squeeze  one  quite  to  death. 

Love  Divine,  like  Heaven's  ire, 

Is  a  flame  that,  dazzling,  daunts  you ; 


Limited  Liabilities  and— Abilities.  171 

Safer  far  the  soft  desire, 
•That  in  Lower  Realms  enchants  you. 
Flowers  that  fade — for  us  are  better 
Than  such  flames — (more  fierce  than  sweet)  ; 
Lightly  let  me  wear  Love's  fetter 
Whilst  my  fickle  pulses  beat ! 

Arms  that  might  embrace  a  region 
Wider  than  mine  eyes  could  heed, — 
Bosoms  that  could  nurse  a  legion 
Lips  like  mine  I  do  not  need ; — 
Such  Titanic  charms  would  curdle 
All  the  busy  blood  within : 
Only  what  my  arms  can  girdle 
Would  my  passions  wear  and  win. 

Narrow  are  Love's  wants  and  wishes, 

No  wide  world  his  hopes  engage : — 

Feast  enough  for  him  one  "  dish  "  is, 

And  his  palace  but  a  cage : 

Too  much  love,  like  ,too  much  liquor, 

Leaves  its  penalties  behind; 

Safest  "  flames- "  are  those  that  flicker ; 

Fickle  maids  are  often  kind. 

Love  that  never  roams  or  ranges, — 
That  may  suit  diviner  "  swells," 


172         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

But  I  like  to  "  ring  my  changes  " 
On  a  dozen  different  "  belles  " ; — 
Here  to-day,  and  there  to-morrow ; — 
Aye  to  win — and  ne'er  to  wive  1 — 
Gathering  sunshine — never  sorrow — 
For  the  Harvest  of  my  Hive  I 


To  Brunetta  from  an  Old  Beau.    173 


Uo  3Brunetta  from  an  ©U>  Beau ! 

BLONDES  are  but  pallid  blooms  at  best,  sweet 

but  to  striplings  callow; 
Could  I  not  find  some  dearer  quest — I'd  let 

Love's  fields  lie  fallow: — 
Cheeks    freckled    oftener    far   .than    fair,    and 

eyes  like  milk  and  water, 
With  sallow  arms  and  sorrel  hair,  or  blonde — 

that  some  one  bought  her. 

But  in  the  dusk  of  hazel  eyes  there  gleams  a 

starry  splendor 
That  dazzles  with  a  glad  surprise  the  hearts 

that  soon  surrender; 
Dumb  lips  more  eloquent  than  speech,  and  raven 

locks  that  cluster 
Above  a  brow  that  might  impeach  the  whitest 

marble's  luster. 

And  graces  sweeter  e'en  than  these,  with  subtle 

charms  unspoken, 
They  bring  poor  Cupid  to  his  knees,  whilst  all 

his  darts  lie  broken : — 


174         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Lovers  are  moths  that  seek  the  flame, — the  lass 

is  but  the  candle; 
On  her  we  should  not  lay  the  blame  if  hearts 

prove  hard  to  handle. 

You  shine   afar  like   some  bright  star   above 

Life's  wildernesses; 
Love  scarcely  knows1  how  sweet  you  are — in 

spite  of  all  his  guesses : — 
If  Luck  but  gave  me  elbow  room, — if  Life  but 

gave  me  leisure, — 
I'd  woo  you  as  the  bee  the  bloom,  and  hive  your 

honeyed  treasure. 

Dear,  dazzled  by  your  splendid  eyes,  my  heart 

still  longs  and  lingers, 
But  I  have  prudent  grown  and  wise  since  last 

I  burned  my  fingers ; 
Though  fairest  hands  may  light  the  flame  no 

less  the  moth  will  suffer, — 
Yea,  even  hearts  some  kindness  claim,  though 

they  are  doubtless  tougher. 

From  blushing  buds  to  bolder  blooms  I  like  to 

flutter  gaily, 

Tasting  hourly  of  new  perfumes,  testing  dif 
ferent  gardens  daily; 


To  Brunetta  from  an  Old  Beau.    175 

Your  heart's  hive  may  be  honey  filled  with 
sweets  from  holt  and  heather, 

But  in  Love's  lore  I'm  too  well  skilled  to  dare 
Stings  leagued  together. 

I  take  what  gifts  the  Gods  may  give, — what 

favors  small  the  Graces, 
Content  if  only  Hope  can  live  and  brighten 

Life's  waste  places ; 
I  like  the  kindly  warmth  that  cheers, — light 

hearts  and  facile  favors, 
And  leave  to  those  of  fewer  years  Hymenial 

"  flats  and  quavers." 

Though  fickle-winged   and  fast  you  flit,  your 

beauty  still  bewitches ; 
Sirens — not  Saints,  you  see,  best  fit  in  Cupid's 

templed  niches ; — 
And  I,  Brunetta,  who  have  ne'er  stooped  to  wear 

Hymen's  fetter, 
Find  you  perhaps  just  doubly  dear  because  you 

are — no  better! 


176         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


ALL  the  world  was  calling  Cupid 
Light  and  lecherous  and  loose, 
And  the  God  at  last  grew  troubled 
At  such  undeserved  abuse, 
Fearing,  like  the  birds  that  flutter 
From  the  scarecrow's  meager  arms, 
Timid  Beauty  might  be  frightened 
By  these  false  but  fierce  alarms. 

With  the  Passions  in  the  pillory, 
And  the  Graces  prison-bound, 
Every  fickle  Fancy  tethered, 
Every  Queen  of  Hearts  discrowned ;- 
Where  could  Cupid  find  a  shelter 
From  the  scandal-mongers  then, 
Who  had  chased  Love  helter-skelter 
From  the  dark  abodes  of  men  ? 

Sick  of  sanctimonious  sinners, 
Worried  by  the  hypocrites, — 
To  escape  from  all  these  troubles 


Hymen  ;  or,  Cupid  in  Chains.     177 

Cupid  puzzled  Ids  poor  wits ; 
But  when  timid  Love  must  battle 
With  a  host  of  heartless  Hates, 
Scant  the  u  laurels  "  that  he  gathers 
From  the  hungry-handed  Fates. 

Beauty  thus  at  last  gave  counsel, 
Blushing  deep  with  conscious  shame: 
There  is  but  one  chance,  Dear  Cupid,  • 
You  must  straightway  change  your  name ; 
We  must  clip  and  bind  your  winglets 
With  some  matron's  locks  of  hair, 
We  must  break  or  blunt  your  arrows, — 
But  your  "  beau  "  ? — well,  that  we'll  spare. 

You  must  give  up  all  flirtations, 
Frolics  in  the  moonlit  nights ; 
Home-made  pottage — not  potations, 
Homespun  petticoats — not  "  tights ;" 
Cut  the  clubs,  all  sirens  banish ; 
Give  up  poetry — stick  to  prose: — 
All  your  troubles,  Dear,  will  vanish,— 
If  as  Hymen  you  "  propose." 

Thus  she  said,  and  having  spoken, 
Cupid  bent  his  weary  head ; 

One  could  see  his  heart  was  broken, 
12 


178         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Though,  'twas  only  "  yes  "  he  said : 
Since  the  cruel  Fates  have  forced  him 
Thus  to  banish  all  "  fast  friends," 
With  a  "  lass  "  we  know,  commences 
Love,  and  with  "  alas!  " — it  ends. 

No  bright  smiles  and  sparkling  "sillery," 
No  long  lookings  in  soft  eyes ; 
"  With  the  Passions  in  the  pillory, 
'Tis  no  wonder  that  he  sighs ; 
His  old  friends  would  never  know  him, 
Sad  of  wit  and  short  of  wing: — 
Hymen — is  poor  Love  in  fetters, 
Tied  to  woman's  apron-string. 

Lacking  "  cents,"  i,t  is  quite  certain 

Love  can  be  but  Hymen's  hack, 

And  "  Alack !  "  must  be  the  ending 

That  commences  with  "  a  lack !  " 

"  Tied "    must    wait,    though    Time    will 

hasten 

Onward  to  the  days  that  bring, 
Not  the  saintly  griefs  that  chasten, 
But  the  debts  and  doubts  that  sting. 

Love,  who  once  was  lord  and  lover, 
Full  of  laughter,  life  and  song, 


Hymen  ;  or,  Cupid  in  Chains.     179 

Now  you  hardly  could  discover 
In  this  wight  who  limps  along, 
Sour  of  visage,  wrinkled,  rusted ; 
Thus  to  grief  his  glory  turns ; 
And  the  God  who  blindly  trusted,- - 
Now  'high-menial  labor  learns. 


180         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


THE  GLOAMING. 


LOVE  came  to  me  laughing,  ay,  laughing  for 
sooth, 

And  his  toying  seemed  joying, — his  fables 
seemed  truth ; 

He  proffered  a  goblet — that  made  my  head 
swim, 

Though  I  sip'd  but  the  bubbles  .that  broke  at 
the  brim. 

Drink  deeper,  he  cried, — there  is  luck  in  the 

lees; 
And  I  quaffed  and  I  quaffed,  'til  I  sank  on 

my  knees 

To  a  maiden, — a  maiden — the  fairest  of  earth, 
Who  bade  me  drink  deeper,  for  "  Love  "  was 

but  Mirth ! 

I  came  to  Hope  weeping,  bewailing  the  lust 
That   had   trampled   the   roses   of  passion    in 
dust ; — 


Love  Hopeless.  181 

O !  Love  is  a  Demon,  not  the  Devil's  self  worse, 
His  lures  are  but  lies,  and  his  kisses  a  curse ! 

O !  give  me  back.  Love,  all  the  pleasures  I  crave, 
The  dreams  of  my  youth,  and  the  riches  I  gave  ! 
What  bliss  could  I  miss  with  the  dearest  one 

there  ? 
But  alas,  I  discovered  that  Love — was  Despair. 


1 82         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 
%ot>e  ant)  -Jealousy  I 

(From  the  German.) 

WHEN  man  was  first  invented,  he 

A  sufferer  long  from  ennui ; 

Indeed  our  earliest  Gospel  saith 

He  nearly  bored  himself  to  death: 

Scant  brains  he  had  and  fewer  books, 

There  were  no  vintners  and  no  cooks ; 

He  hadn't  even  learned  to  woo 

The  woman, — who  was  then  quite — New. 

Lord  Christ,  who  knew  Creation's  plan, 
And  saw  the  Gods  unjust  to  'Man, 
Devoutly  falling  on  his  knees 
Thus  to  the  Father  made  his  pleas : 
The  Earth,  he  cried,  is  sunk  in  gloom, 
And  Man  disgusted  with  his  doom ; 
Oh !  let  me  send  from  Heaven  above 
To  cheer  their  darkness  Light  and  Love. 

With  Light  to  bless  from  sunlit  skies, 
With  Love  to  wisely  shut  their  eyes, 


Love  and  Jealousy.  183 

The  World,  at  once,  so  merry  grew 
It  made  the  Gods  by  contrast — blue; 
For  it  must  frankly  be  confessed 
Long  prayers  put  patience  to  the  test, 
And  glory,  grandeur,  style  and  state 
Must  weary  soon  the  Good  and  Great. 

With  Light  to  guide  and  Love  to  grace 
So  happy  grew  the  Human  race, 
They  laughed  to  scorn  the  Gods  above 
Who  now  had  lost  the  Angel  Love : 
By  contrast  with  Heaven's  solemn  rites, 
The  Earth  seemed  full  of  gay  delights; 
The  jealous  Gods  resented  this, 
And  counseled  how  to  blight  Man's  bliss. 

How  best  to  punish  Man  and  Maid 

The  "  Lords  "   long  pondered : — Love,   afraid 

Of  being  put  in  "  leading  strings  " 

Again  in  Heaven,  used  her  wings, 

And  clearly  showed  imperious  Jove 

She  much  preferred  to  lightly  rove 

In  Earthly  fields, — to  playing  precise, 

The  model  Prude  of  Paradise. 

To  lure  back  Love — as  still  they  failed — 
The  Gods  before  this  question  quailed; 


184         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Yet  Earth  with,  this  one  gift  of  Heaven 
Rivaled  their  glory,  if  no  leaven 
They  yet  might  find  wherewith  to  raise 
The  Devil  in  a  thousand  ways, 
And  by  some  poison  or  some  spell 
Convert  Earth's  Heaven  to  a — Hell. 

At  last  in  their  despair  and  doubt, 
Old  Satan,  who  was  once  kicked  out 
Of  Heaven,  was  called  on  for  advice, 
As  he  was  learned  in  every  vice. 
And  thus  this  Prince  of  Darkness  spoke : — 
I've  got  a  plan  now  in  my  "  poke  " ; 
Among  my  servants  and  my  slaves — 
Some  few  were  nobles,  but  most — Knaves; 

Yet  one  there  is,  once  Prince  of  Pride, 

Who  ever  faithful  by  my  side 

Hath  stood  and  served  me  zealously; — 

In  Hell  we  call  him — Jealousy. 

This  cruel  spirit  let  me  send 

To  live  on  Earth  with  Love — as  friend 

And  comrade: — all  of  Love's  sweet  foison 

With  incantations  he  can  poison. 

The  very  best  of  True  Love's  blisses 
He  turns  to  venom  with  fierce  hisses 


Love  and  Jealousy.  185 

Of  doubt  and  hate:  this  single  vice 

Would  wreck  the  fairest  Paradise ! 

The  Gods  consented,  and  on  Earth, 

Where  Love  once  brought  but  Hope  and  Mirth, 

]STow  Jealousy,  who's  ever  near, 

Breathes  in  the  hapeless  lover's  ear — 

Such  cruel  fears  and  hateful  doubts 
That  when  a  maiden  sighs  or  pouts, 
At  once  he  sees  his  rivals  share 
Her  fondest  favors;  and  Despair 
Steps  in  and  bids  him  curse  his  fate 
For — Trusting  Woman! — Since  this  date, 
Love  linked  with  Jealousy  is  worse 
Than  all  and  every  other  curse. 

And  Earth,  that  once  with  Love  supreme, 
Was  sweeter  than  the  Gods  can  dream,  • 
Now  makes  even  Hell  by  contrast  sweet- 
In  spite  of  all  its  drouth  and  heat. 
Far  better  shun  the  rose-strewn  ways 
That  lead  to  bowers  where  Beauty  stays, 
Than  feel  those  pangs  the  Jealous  must, 
Who — ever  loving — never  trust. 


1 86         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


Impatient. 

EVER  impatient  ? — Yes,  so  let  it  be, 
I  feel  my  fetters — jet  I  would  be  free ; 
A  prison  pens  me,  though  my  soul  aspires 
To  purge  itself  in  Purgatorial  fires, 
Thence  rising  undismayed  to  meet  the  End, 
Where  God  stands  steadfast,  ready  to  extend — 
ISTot  only  Hope,  but  Help — to  him  who 'wins 
A  lifelong  warfare  waged  agains,t  all  sins. 

Impatient? — Yes,    of    all    these    frauds    and 

fools, — 
Of    all    these    cunning    schemes    and    crazy 

schools : — 

Of  all  these  howling  hypocrites  and  cleric  curs 
Who'd    win    God's    races    with    the    Devil's 

spurs ; — 
Of  all  these  hogs  and  hounds  who  swell  and 

swill, 
Yet  make  their  betters  ever  foot  the  bill. 

Impatient  of  these  wicked  wasps  that  sting; 
"  Dirt-daubers  "  all,  that  gather  mud  to  fling 


Impatient.  187 

On  cleaner  lives,  and  thus  with  Dirt's  help  dare 
To  prove  by  contrast  that  Their  record's  fair. 
Impatient  of  assassins  who  dare  face  no  foe, 
Yet  sheathe  their  daggers  in  the  heart  of  woe, 
Stabbing  with   "  They   say,"   who   is   but   the 

mate — 
False  and  unfathered — of  their  own  mean  hate. 

Impatient  of  these  Robbers'  Rights,  and  Robbed 

Men's  wrongs; — 
Of  thriving  thieves  who  &L  ould  be  scourged  with 

thongs ; — 
Of    selfish    Sovereigns — things    of    commonest 

clay — 
Crowned   with   dim   glories   of   a   long   Dead 

Day;- 
For — if    these    Kings    were    Royal — as    were 

right — 
Crowns  would  be  heavy  and  Scepters  would  bo 

light. 

Impatient  ? — Yes,  of  all  these  sins  of  self, 
That  barter  true  honors  for  the  pride  and  pelf 
Of   mud-made   millionaires — rotten   and   rust 
ed,— 

Who  thrive  on  "  Trusts  " — that — never  could 
be  trusted. 


1 88         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Impatient,  too,  of  Statesmen  who  set  snares 
To  bribe  the  "Millions"  for  the— "  Million 
aires." 

In  spite  of  all  our  Science  and  our  Schools, 
One  Fraud  still  fattens  on  a  thousand  Fools ; — 
And  if  the  Gods  no  Savior  soon  shall  send, — 
Impatient,  yes,  impatient  of  the  END, 
When   all   this   rotten    Fabric   shall   one   ruin 

share ; — 
For  even  Death  itself  is  better  than  DESPAIR! 


A  Contented  Cynic.  189 


H  Contented 

FRIENDSHIP  fools  and  Love  betrays 
In  a  dozen  different  ways ; 
Kature — Knowledge — these   alone 
Make  life's  best  gifts  all  our  own. 
Half  the  blessings  mortals  choose 
Even  .the  lesser  Gods  refuse, 
Knowing  that  what  men  most  prize 
Leave  them  only  loss  and  sighs. 

Pluck  me  blossoms  fair  and  fine, 
Fill  my  bumpers  full  of  wine ; 
Friends  with  feasts  are  fitted  best,' 
But  no  comrades  stand  the  test: 
In  my  cellar's  scented  gloom 
In  my  gardens  bloom  on  bloom, 
Rosy  draughts  that  never  end, 
But  I  cannot  find — one  friend. 

Kay!   Not  so: — these  Flowers  fair, 
Sweeter  than  the  fickle  fair ; 
And  this  wine — a  friend  that  brings 
Back  the  sunshine  of  dead  Springs. 


Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Let  me  snatch  the  bliss  that  flies 
Ere  'tis  lost  in  alien  skies; 
Love  and  Friendship — I  resign, 
If  you  leave  me  flowers  and  wine. 

Worldlings  keep  what  wealth  hath  brought; 
Man — and  maid  can  both  be  bought: 
Be  my  gifts — what  Nature  yields, 
Fruit  and  Flowers  of  the  fields ; 
Friendship  means  a  bargain  where 
Biggest  fraud  gets  biggest  share; 
Love  a  rose — that  wisdom  scorns, 
Knowing  well  its  fretful  thorns. 

I  shall  miss  the  world's  worst  scars 
If  I  trust  but  flowers  and  stars ; 
In  my  Eden  bring  no  Eve — 
Lest  my  heart  should  learn  to  grieve. 
Friends  are  not  like  stars  that  show 
Brightest  when  the  shadows  grow ; — 
Love,  too,  like  the  Moon,  my  dear, 
Only  comes  when  skies  are  clear. 


Sold  Out.  191 


Solfc  ©ut 

I'VE  rambled  often  far-afield, 

Piped  many  a  rustic  ditty, 
But  weary  now  of  wandering  yield 

Forced  tribute  to  the  city. 
Again,  my  fortune  on  my  back, 

I  tramp  the  streets  and  alleys, 
And  half  forget  the  woodland  track 

That  leads  to  heights  and  valleys. 

I've  found  a  room  to  suit  the  taste 

Of  one  who's  not  rheumatic, 
With  gilded  furnishings  ungraced, 

A  dim-lit  ten-foot  attic; 
Here  high  above  the  dust  and  din 

I  see  the  blue  skies  over, 
And  when  the  stars  peep  shyly  in, 

Can  dream  of  corn  and  clover. 

From  roof  to  roof  I  hear  the  cats 
Their  nuptial  music  miawling, 

When  sunbeams  slip  through  window-slats 
I  hear  the  sparrows  calling, 


192         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

And  down  six  stories,  in  the  slum, 
Where  never  prayer  or  peace  is, 

I  hear  the  city's  busy  hum, — 
A  sigh  that  never  ceases. 

Across  the  crowded  roofs  I  look, 

Past  many  a  dome  and  steeple, 
And  seem  to  read,  as  in  a  book, — 

The  hearts  of  all  the  people 
Who  toil  and  traffic,  save  and  spend, 

Yet  so  few  knots  unravel ; 
Beyond  where  streets  and  alleys  end — 

Their  sad  souls  never  travel. 

But  I,  at  sunset  looking  far — 

Through  shadows  ever  shifting, 
See  under  yonder  evening  star 

Dim  crests  their  white  crowns  lifting; 
Methinks  I  hear  the  huntsman's  horn — 

The  ploughman's  merry  whistle, 
See  ragged-robin  in  the  corn, 

And  goldfinch  on  gray  thistle. 

And  underneath  yon  cloudy  crest 

That  in  blue  ridges  billows, 
I've  found  forsooth  a  dainty  nest — 

Hedged  round  by  oaks  and  willows; 


Sold  Out.  193 

When  street-lamps  flash  in  many  a.  row, 

The  welcome  dusk  beginning, 
I  see  a  lass, — whom  well  I  know,— 

Her  hank  of  brown  flax  spinning. 

She  sits  and  spins  a  thin  fine  thread, 

And  seems  to  sing  beside  me ; 
Deft  fingers,  that  so  lightly  sped, 

With  gossamers  have  tied  me ; 
No  fetters  wrought  by  sturdy  steel 

Could  half  as  firmly  hold  me ; — 
Ah !  now  in  happy  dreams  I  feel 

That  loving  arms  enfold  me. 

But  no ; — say  what  you  will  of  Love, 

He  is  no  boy  light-hearted, 
With  all  the  Graces  "  hand  and  glove," 

And  true  to  friends  departed: — 
Let  those  who  have  the  money  mock 

At  those  who  lack  a  dinner; 
Gold  keys  can  even  hearts  unlock; — 

My  rival — won  the  Spinner. 


iQ4         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


Uborns  ant)  IRoses, 

ONE  day — in  years  long  over — 1  wandered  far 

afield, 
To  look  for  Love  the  Rover,  and  see  what  gifts 

he'd  yield; 
For  some  had  told  me  Flowers  he  brought  on 

golden  morns, 
But  some,  in  darker  hours,  declared  he  gave 

but   Thorns. 

But  I,  too  dull  for  doubting,  or  .trusting  Cupid's 

clue, 
All  riper  counsels  flouting,  felt  Love  would  lead 

me  through ; 
And  so  I  followed  laughing  light  lures  that  led 

me  far, 
Hope's  fountain  deeply  quaffing  beneath  Love's 

rising  star. 

But  stars  will  fade  and  vanish,  and  fountains 

sometimes  fail ; 
Hope's  "  chateau  "  rather  "  Spanish  "  for  feasts 

of  beef  and  ale ; 


Thorns  and  Roses.  195 

Indeed  in  "  Cupid's  cottage  " — -a  crazy  hut  at 
best, 

So  lean  at  last  the  pottage — 'twill  lure  no  hun 
gry  guest. 

Were  heads  forever  level,  were  hearts  forever 
true, 

Love  still  might  safely  revel  yet  never  lose 
Luck's  clue; 

But — if  in  dulcet  hours — your  heart  ripe  Wis 
dom  scorns, 

Be  sure, — Love's  sweetest  flowers  shall  leave 
but  rankling  thorns. 


196         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


Ibearts  Crucifies. 

HATE  hath  no  deeper  Hells  than  these 

Damned  depths  of  Passion's  fierce  despair; 

Graces  that  gull  us — smiles  that  snare ; — 

Not  stars  to  guide  o'er  stormy  seas, 

But  Sirens  softly  singing  where 

Death  crawls  and  creeps  about  their  knees, 

And  in  their  white  arms  takes  his  ease, 

Full-fed  upon  their  bosoms  bare. 

Than  Love — Life  hath  no  greater  foe ; 

A  treacherous  stream — whose  dark  floods  flow 

Through  Passion's  poisoned  Paradise; 

And  yet,  as  all  men  learn  to  know, — 

In  love  what  witcheries  of  woe : — 

Bliss  crowned  with  briars, — is  Love's  device. 


To  Linette.  197 


Uo  Xtnette, 

A  DAINTY  little  maid  was  she, 

With  eyes — like  those  brown  chinquapins 

That  in  the  Autumnal  days  we  see — 

When  first  the  leafy  gold  begins 

To  gild  the  spreading  ches,tnut  tree. 

Yet  more: — as  round  those  nutty  node 
A  bristling  hedge  of  burs  is  set, 
So  she,  in  spite  of  love-star  lodes 
That  drew  blind  hearts  into  her  net, 
Rebuffs  in  varying  moods  and  mode? 

Tender,  yet  not  by  passion  stirr'd, 

Nay  more; — through  all  her  winning  ways, 

Her  heart  wings,  like  a  prisoned  bird, 

Seek  freedom,  and  her  fancy  strays 

Not  far — when  "  wooing  "  is  the  word. 

Like  white  Parnassias  that  shun 
The  summer's  warmer  wooing,  she 
Unfolds  no  petals  to  the  sun, 
But  keeps  her  maiden  fancies  free 
As  any  Vestal  could  have  done. 


198         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Her  days  slip  by  in  placid  guise, 
Her  brow  is  smooth,  her  heart  is  quiet, 
As  though  Love's  tides,  that  kiss  the  skies, 
Could  ne'er  by  any  chance  run  riot 
With  storms  that  only  Age  defies. 

Doubtless  the  hour  shall  come  that  wakes 
Her  soul  to  rosier  hopes  and  dreams ; — 
Upon  her  sleeping  heart  there  breaks 
Love's  Dawning  with  effulgent  beams, — 
A  wondrous  oriflamme  that  shakes 

Its  fiery  folds  above  the  Land 

Where  Eros  reigns — the  Lord  of  All : — 

There  Youths  and  Maidens,  hand  in  hand, 

Feel  sure  but  blisses  can  befall 

Glad  hearts  that  on  its  threshold  stand. 

But  I,  who  found  this  bud  so  sweet 
Half  turned  to  welcome  April's  shower, 
Shall  never  in  the  summer  heat 
Gather  the  gift  of  Love's  full  flower, 
Or  feel  her  quickening  pulses  beat. 

My  dreams  are  buried; — her's  but  begin 
To  brighten  through  Youth's  magic  mist; 
I  hold  no  golden  lures  to  win 


To  Linette.  199 

Those  budding  graces  yet  unkissed : 
Into  my  life  no  joys  slip  in 

To  brighten  years  that  fast  grow  dark 
With  gray  disasters  and  defeats ; 
Hope  faltering  fades,  a  dying  spark, — 
The  levin  leaps,  the  billow  beats, 
And  whelms  unpiloted  my  bark. 

Some  day,  in  years  to  come  perchance, 
She — wedded  long — and  I  long  dead, 
In  passing  she  may  give  a  glance 
And  mark  the  faded  blossoms  shed 
On  the  white  tombstone,  where — in  trance 
dly  soul  lay  slumbering:  yet  in  dim 
Halt  dreaming  fashion  shall  I  hear 
Her  footfall ;  in  the  Darkness  grim 
Even  faint  whisperings  bring  some  cheer 
Should  she  but  sigh: — /  once  knew  him! 


200         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


Homittance. 

JUST  where  the  streets  cross  at  right  angles, 

I  heard  a  footfall — light  and  springing; 

Suddenly  all  the  dusk  seemed  singing 

With  nightingales,  and  starry  spangles 

Stole  double  radiance  from  Apollo. 

I  caught  a  glimpse  of  amber  tresses — 

And  fluttering  skirts,  that  helped  my  guesses, 

And  so  at  once  essayed  to  follow. 

But  as  I  reached  the  door,  perdition! 

There  stood  a  butler  of  condition, 

To  grant  you  entrance  with  due  flourish ; 

And  I  shut  out,  my  last  wish  wilted, 

Like  some  poor  lover  lately  jilted, 

My  jealous  doubts  in  darkness  nourish. 


Two  of  a  Kind.  201 


ZTwo  ot  a  IRint). 

IF  you'd  only  stab  me,  darling,  with  a  dagger — 
not  a  look, 

I  wouldn't  care ;  but  snarling  or  a  sneer  I  can 
not  brook. 

Your  ends  you'll  never  compass  if  you'll  sit 

there  like  a  mouse; 
But  if  you'd  raise  a  rumpus — you  might  scare 

me  from  the  house. 

You  should  sometimes  air  your  curses — give 
them  meat  and  mother's  milk, 

And  pillory  my  verses — as  "  strayed  revelers  " 
clad  in  silk. 

It's  patience  plainly  wasted — this   pretending 

to  be  sweet, 
For  we  both  have  fully  tasted — all  the  bitters 

of  defeat. 

If  you  have  lost  your  lover,  why  I  have  lost  my 

lass, 
And  we  neither  can  recover,  whate'er  may  come 

to  pass. 


2O2         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

We  have  followed  fickle  Fancy  from  his  cradle 

to  his  grave, 
And  Passion's  necromancy  can  no  longer  salve 

or  save. 

There's  no  love  lost  between  us,  we  can  both 

show  scabs  and  scars ; — 
And  if  I  have  lost  my  Venus,  why  you  have 

found  your  Mars. 

I  do  not  grudge  your  cavalier — if  he'll  but  pay 

your  debts; 
But  then  you  should  not  snub,  my  dear,  my  bevy 

of  "  Brevets." 


A  Thievish  Grace.  203 


H  tTbievisb  (Brace. 

WHY,  what  a  little  thief  you  are ! 
Your  glances  stolen  from  some  star 
That  Heaven  set  to  watch  Love's  bowers ; 
Your  lips,  on  which  my  longings  thrive, 
Have  stolen  sweets  from  every  hive, — 
Filched  fragrance  from  Spring's  fairest  flowers. 
Your  cheeks  have  ravished  from  the  Rose 
The  daintiest  blush  the  summer  brought, 
And  in  your  tangled  tresses  caught — 
The  sunset's  golden  glamour  grows. 
Your  eyes  have  stolen  Heaven's  own  blue, 
Your  teeth,  I'm  sure,  are  pilfered  pearls; — 
Your  bosom,  veiled  but  half  by  curls, — 
Hath  robbed  the  lily  of  its  hue. 

You  thrive  on  thefts  from  Heaven  and  Earth, 

For  Venus  watched  you  from  your  birth. 

And  Fortune  feasted  every  whim; 

Until  you've  lightly  learned  to  think 

Of  even  Hymen's  golden  link: — 

Why  should  your  "  Highness  "  bow  to  him  ? 


204         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

A  goddess  is  not  bound  by  vows ! 

Upon  your  altar  Glory  lays 

The  greenest  of  his  hard-won  bays: — 

To  Beauty  even  Honor  bows ! 

For  you  glib  falsehoods  whispers  Tru,th;- 

And  now,  though  legions  are  your  slaves, 

One  victory  more  your  fancy  craves, 

And  you  would  steal  my  heart,  forsooth. 

You'd  steal  a  poet's  heart,  to-day, 
To-morrow  cast  its  wealth  away 
As  lightly  as  a  withered  bloom; 
You'd  lure  me  with  a  treacherous  kiss 
To  leap  into  Love's  deep  abyss, 
Then  laughing  leave  me  to  my  doom. 
O !  fairest  witch  that  ever  wore 
Heaven's  livery  in  Hell's  behalf, — 
When  lovers  die  you  only  laugh; — 
'Tis  but  one  added  to  the  score. 
O !  sweetest  thief  that  ever  throve 
On  stolen  sweets  from  earth  and  sky, — 
Give  but  one  kiss, — that  when  I  die — 
That  one  shall  be  my  treasure-trove. 

But  no, — I  dare  not  press  those  lips, 
The  touch  of  even  your  finger  tips 


A  Thievish  Grace.  205 

Would  set  my  very  soul  on  fire ; 
Once  savoring  the  sweets  you  bring, 
To  miss  the  fuller  feast  would  sting 
And  stab  me  deeper  with  desire. 
If  now  with  jealous  pangs  I  burn, 
Wliat  deeper  depths  of  dark  despair, 
To  measure — kiss  by  kiss — the  share 
That  falls  to  those  you  never  spurn. 
I  would  these  doubts  could  steel  my  heart, 
But  you  have  stolen  strength  and  truth; — 
My  Age — plays  lackey  to  your  Youth, — 
Though  Hope  shall  never  heal  love's  smart. 


2o6         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


H  Sona  of  Silence, 

YE  Gods,  if  I  could  only  reach 

Some  realm  unpacked  by  human  speech, 

Where  all  the  gossips  were  quite  dumb, 

And  folk  but  talked  by  "  rule  of  thumb," 

Fingers  alone  to  help  us  out ; 

Why,  then  we'd  stick  to  facts,  no  doubt, 

And  falsehoods  (even  Fashion's  fibs), — 

Stripped  naked  to  their  very  bibs, 

Would  learn,  perhaps,  at  last  to  blush 

WThen  saintly  Silence  whispered — HUSH! 

O !  wiser  WTorld,  whence  wicked  words 
Are  ever  banished,  whilst  the  birds 
Sing  fetterless  and  free  the  songs 
That  soothe  and  salve  all  lesser  wrongs. 
A  world — where  Music's  magic  brings 
Love's  olive-branch  on  sounding  wings 
From  glad  shores  (nearing  through  the  dark) 
To  prisoned  souls  in  storm-tossed  Ark: — 
The  whispering  winds — the  sighing  seas, 
What  clearer  phophecies  than  these  ? 


A  Song  of  Silence.  207 

A  wordless  World,  from  Scandal  freed, 
Where  Love  but  sighs  or  smiles  his  screed; 
No  specious  frauds  misleading  Youth, 
No  Orators  playing  tricks  with  Truth; 
No  hypocritical  pulpiteers 
Poisoning  with  lies  the  longest  ears, 
Bribing  dull  wits  (that  lack  all  leaven) 
With  promised  "  Dividends  "  in  Heaven : — 
Barr'd  out  all  racket  and  all  rhyme, 
Even  poets  reduced  to — pantomime. 

If  this  "  unruly  member  "  clipp'd 

How  many  sins  were  safely  skipp'd ; 

If  once  we  tie  Temptation's  Tongue 

The  Devil's  own  darlings  all  die  young; 

Few  fools  the  Sirens  overreach 

By  song — but  many  a  one  by — Speech : 

Stripp'd  of  all  treacherous  Eloquence — 

Politics  would  change  from  Sound  to  Sense, 

And  empty  hands  grow  strong  enough 

To  seize  rich  rascals  by  the  scruff. 

More  dangerous  than  the  Soldier's  blade 
Your  Orator's  tongue — by  Party  paid; 
Wit,  battling  in  behalf  of — Might, 
Hath  often  slain  dull-witted  Right: 
If  all  the  good  were  wise  and  brave, 


208         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

And  cracked-brained  cowards  every  Knave, 
Long  since — in  this  sad  world  of  ours, — 
We'd  find  no  thorns  left — only  flowers: — 
But  following  Falsehood,  for  a  fee, 
Free  Speech,  alas,  hath  grown  too  free. 

Therefore,  I  hold  the  Gods  unwise 
To  give  us  Speech  that  leads  to  lies : 
Enough  to  gladden  worlds  like  ours 
The    sight    of    sun — clouds — mountains — flow 
ers, — 

Colors  and  contours — glow  and  grace — 
To  cheer  and  charm  the  human  race; 
With  sighs  of  winds — and  songs  of  birds, 
And  Music's  might — that  wants  no  words 
To  thrill  the  soul,  needing  no  tongue 
To  tell  the  paeans  Seraph's  sung. 

Hark  to  the  chafing  Seas  that  chant 

Requiems  to  shores  of  adamant ! 

Hark  to  the  wordless  Winds,  whose  glees 

Set  dancing  leagues  of  leafy  trees ! 

Hark  to  the  "  Spheres  "  we  yet  may  reach 

Beyond  all  hope  or  help  of  speech ! 

The  stars  in  silence  prophesy 

Dim  secrets  of  the  darkest  sky ; 

And  when  at  last  Death's  shadows  come, 

Behold,  our  Conqueror,  too,  is  dumb! 


Oblivion.  209 


©blivion. 

IF  after  life's  weary  vigil, 
With  watchings  long  and  waiting 
Through  lagging  years  that  creep 
(Hope  lame  and  even  Love  half  hating), 
Conies — to  end  all  sorrows — Death's  soft  sleep ; 
Why  should  we  weep  ? 

After  life's  stress  and  struggle, 

Sharp  wounds  and  woeful  wars, 

And  miseries  that  never  cease, — 

Comes  now — to  heal  all  scars — 

Death's  victory,  that  bringeth  peace; — 
Oh,  glad  release ! 

After  the  chances  and  mischances 

Of  lost  games  played  with  loaded  dice, 
Shall  we  not  hold  as  best 

Escape  from  inextinguishable  vice, 
And  welcome  Death — as  rest  ? 

Why  further  quest  ? 

Is  it  not  better  to  surrender 

The  blind  God's  empty  gift 


2io         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

That  leaves  us  half  undone, 

Than  striving  vainly  loads  to  lift 
That  wiser  shoulders  shun  ? 

The  shroud's  soon  spun ! 

Does  the  lean  harvest  merit 

Half  the  long  labor  borne 
Through  bitter — baleful  years  ? 

With  hands  and  hearts  out-worn 
!Even  triumphs  turn  to  tears ; 

Life's  sorrow  sears! 

Is  this  life  then  so  radiant 

That  we  dread  the  next 
May  to  our  sad  souls  darker  seem  ? 

Ah,  Death  is  kindly,  and  the  Dead  unvexed 
By  evsn  the  shadow  of  a  dream: 

Why  toil  and  scheme  ? 

If  hopes  end — so  do  doubtings ! 

If  smiles  fade — tears  soon  dried ; 
No  shadows  darken  if  no  dazzling  sun: 

'Tis  only  human  vanity  and  pride 
That  shrink  from  soft  oblivion 

Through  sweet  Death  won. 


April  and  December.  211 


Hpdl  ant)  December* 

LET  April  fool  us,  if  she  will, 

With  smiles  so  very  arch; 
One  thing  is  sure,  for  good  or  ill, 

She  can't  be  bad  as  March, — 
That   blustering — boastful  month   that  claims 

To  be  the  "  first  of  Spring," 
Though  dark  December  often  shames 

The  sunshine  he  can  bring. 

~N~o  doubt  even  April's  promised  gifts — 

Will  often  prove  quite  scanty; 
Her  violets  hidden  under  drifts 

Of  snow — that  well  might  daunt  a 
Poor  lover  who  had  wandered  out 

To  find  his  girl  a  flower; — • 
First  comes  a  kiss  and  then  a  pout, — 

First  sunshine  then  a  shower. 

And  so  it  goes, — sunshine  and  snows, — 
The  ficklest  month  of  all  the  Twelve; 

Hardly  a  single  blossom  blows — 
Though  busily  the  Gardeners  delve; 


212         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

This  Maiden  Month,  of  all  the  year 
So  changeful  is — though  charming, 

]STow  almost  melting  to  a  tear, 
And  now  with  smiles  disarming. 

So  maidens  in  their  tender  "  teens." 

Allure  us  with  shy  graces, 
Whilst  Love  paints  all  his  dearest  scenes ' 

In  Hope's  half -hidden  places; 
~No  bold  avowals  in  broad  Day — 

Where  Gossip's  ear  can  hearken, 
But  in  close  coverts  far  away — 

When  Dusk  begins  to  darken. 

Such  covert  kisses  sweeter  are 

Than  Passion's  riper  gifts, 
That  on  such  gentle  souls  would  jar 

As  on  May's  roses — drifts 
Of  snow  belated — falling  fast ; 

Ah!  timid  maids,  remember — 
The  Summer  will  not  always  last, — 

And  Hearts  have  their  December. 

Let  April  fool  us  all  she  can ; 

I've  had  too  much  of  schooling 
From  stern  Experience — as  a  Man, 

And  now  I  think  some  fooling 


April  and  December.  213 

And  follies,  touched  with  fondness,  might 

Bring  back  those  golden  hours 
When  first  I  marked  young  Cupid's  flight 

Through  fields  of  April  flowers. 

From  all  thy  honeyed  harvests  bring, 

Oh,  Love's  dawn,  as  a  token, 
One  blossom  of  the  bounteous  Spring, 

A  bud  but  erstwhile  broken ; 
Yet  as  I  breathe  its  sweet  perfume, 

My  heart,  alas,  remembers 
My  life  for  Aprils  hath  no  room, — 

But  only  for  DECEMBERS  ! 


214         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas.' 


GLEANINGS. 


tbe 

IN  Accad,  the  long-forgotten  land — 
In  Nippur,  the  city  long  buried  in  sand — 
Lived  Mansour,  the  Miser,  in  ages  old, — 
And  worshiped  the  Forty  Gods  and  Gold ; 
Year  by  year  grew  his  golden  store, 
And  day  by  day  would  he  pray  for  more. 

Fearing  that  others  would  win  his  wealth, 
He  would  wander  into  the  wastes  by  stealth, 
There  in  some  desert's  hidden  cave, 
Would  bury  the  gems  and  gold  men  crave; 
In  wretched  rags  he  would  steal  away 
To  the  coverts  close  where  his  treasures  lay, 
And  grasping  all  his  lean  hands  could  hold 
Gloat  over  the  glint  of  his  buried  gold. 

Richer  and  richer  he  grew  with  years, 

And  he  knew  no  loves — no  hopes — no  fears, 

Save  the  growing  dread  tha,t  some  clown  or  king 


Mansour  the  Miser.  215 

By  chance  might  light  on  the  hidden  Thing, — 
On  the  gold  and  gems  that  held  control 
Of  his  narrow  life  and  his  sordid  soul. 


And  it  so  befell — as  he  plann'd  and  schemed, 
He  fell  asleep,  and  in  sleep  he  dreamed ; 
Yea,  the  Forty  Gods — from  Bab  to  Bel — 
The  golden  gates  unlocked ;  and  the  spell 
Of  darkness  broken.     Where  the  seas  stretched 

blue, 

Lo !  in  dreams  his  fancies  southward  flew, 
And  a  hundred  leagues  from  the  barren  shores 
Where  the  date  palm  waves   and  white   surf 

roars, 

See !  an  island  gleams  in  the  glittering  sun, 
And  he  felt  that  the  Golden  Goal  was  won. 

Surely  might  Mansour  trust  to  Bel, 
And  the  Forty  lesser  Gods  as  well ; 
Heaven  has  sent  him  signs  to  show 
Where  the  island's  golden  shores  would  glow 
Like  a  beacon  over  the  waves  afar. 
Blindly  but  bravely  he'd  follow  his  star ; 
Across  the  waste  and  over  the  waves — 
Lie  ever  the  lands  that  the  lost  soul  craves. 


216         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Down  to  the  Haven  Mansour  went, 

And  he  found  a  craft  with  its  sails  all  bent ; 

There  was  food  and  drink  in  the  narrow  hold, 

And  the  trade  soon  made  and  the  vessel  sold. 

The  sea  was  calm  and  the  breeze  was  fair, 

And  his  hopes  made  him  bold  to  do  and  dare. 

Never  a  sailor  needed  he 

To  guide  his  craft  o'er  the  silent  sea, 

Never  should  other  eyes  behold 

This  gift  of  the  Gods— the  Land  of  Gold. 

Haven  and  home,  and  palace  and  palm, 
Sink  in  the  North,  and  the  seas  are  calm ; 
Only  a  soft  breeze  blows  to  the  south, 
And  bears  him  away  from  the  Harbor's  mouth. 
Night  after  night  he  sees  afar 
The  Golden  Isle  like  a  rising  star ; 
Night  after  night  the  great  God  Bel, 
And  the  Forty  lesser  Gods  as  well, 
Gladden  his  dreams  with  the  spell  of  Gold: 
And  the  warm  winds  laugh  as  his  sails  unfold, 
Unfold  like  the  wings  of  the  Dove  at  dark — 
That  brought  Hope's  help  to  the  drifting  Ark. 

But  the  crumbs  grow  fewer  day  by  day, 

And  water  fails; — let  Mansour  pray, 

For  his  throat  burns  now  with  a  growing  thirst. 


Mansour  the  Miser.  217 

Yet  the  Gods  are  good  and  he's  known  the  worst, 

For  over  the  seas  there  shines  afar 

The  haven  of  hope  with  its  golden  bar  j 

Over  the  horizon's  level  rim 

A  gleam  as  of  sunrise  dawns  on  him ; 

Kearer  and  nearer  the  shores  of  gold 

That  glitter  with  glories  as  yet  untold, 

And  his  bark,  as  he  reaches  the  Promised  Land, 

Is  beached  on  a  beach  of  golden  sand. 

Of  golden  sands  are  the  gleaming  shores, 
Of  molten  gold  is  the  stream  that  pours ; 
The  rocks  are  of  gold,  and  instead  of  shells 
Diamonds  and  rubies, — where  the  blue  surge 

swells, — 

Girdle  this  Land  with  gems  that  gleam 
Richer  than  ever  Fancy's  dream ; 
Liquid  gold  all  the  rivers  run, 
The  summits  out-dazzle  the  shimmering  sun: — 
Dazed  by  these  growing  glories  first, 
Mansour  forgets  both  hunger  and  thirst, 
Only  sees  like  .a  Heaven  unrolled — 
This  glorious  gleaming  realm  of  Gold 

Forgotten  the  Forty  Gods  and  Bel ; 
Dazzled  and  dazed  by  the  golden  spell, 
'He  worships  only  the  wealth  he  sees; 


218         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Crouching  low,  on  his  bended  knees, 
He  kissed  the  bright  gems  one  by  one, — 
Each  a  splinter  cleft  from  some  shattered  sun: 
Hugs  to  his  heart,  with  his  clutching  hands, 
Heap  after  heap  of  the  golden  sands, — 
And  what  his  lean  fingers  cannot  hold — 
Rains  down  in  a  shimmering  shower  of  gold ; — 
!No  elusive  fancies — or  follies — these, 
For  he  wades  in  wealth  to  his  very  knees, 
And  gloats  with  glad  eyes  on  the  jeweled  gleams 
And  glories  that  far  outstrip  all  dreams. 

"But  hunger  and  thirst  again  awake ; — 
By  some  cool  spring  will  his  parched  throat 

slake : 

Under  the  shadow  of  fruitful  trees 
Will  he  eat  his  fill  and  be  at  ease, 
Monarch  of  more  than  the  mints  of  man 
Could  have  coined  since  this  little  world  began. 
Sole  Lord  of  the  Land  of  Gems  and  Gold, 
What  else  for  hope  could  the  heavens  hold  ? 

But  never  a  tree  shows  near  or  far, 

A  golden  beach  and  a  golden  bar, 

ISTot  a  green  growth  graces  this  wealth  untold, 

And  when  he  bends  where  the  river  rolled, 

The  liquid  gold  sets  his  lips  on  fire 


Mansour  the  Miser.  219 

With  redoubled  thirst,  and  again  desire 
Awakes  in  his  soul  for  the  gifts  life  brings; 
For  homes  that  shelter — for  hearts  that  love, 
For  the  Graces  of  Earth  and  the  stars  above ; 
But  here — where  the  Gates  of  Gold  unfold — 
No  glory  or  grace  save  the  gift  of  gold : 
Wealth  drops  in  waves  from  his  finger  tips, 
But  no  drop  of  water  to  moisten  his  lips. 

And  his  thirst  grows  keener: — What  is  wealth 

worth  ? 

What  he  longs  for  now  is  the  life  of  Earth. 
What  are  the  Gods  who  "  give  " — to  him  ? 
What  is  this  Gold  but  a  Despot  grim  ? 
Nay,  worse,  a  Devil  who  mocks  his  hurt ! 
What  are  these  diamonds  but  dross  and  dirt  ? 
Liquid  gold  ! — could  the  Gods  send  worse 
To  the  thirsting  soul  that  they  meant  to  curse  ? 
Gladly  he'd  barter  all  these  lands 
With  their  rubied  rocks  and  their  golden  sands, 
For  one   fresh   draught   from   some   woodland 

spring — 
Where  the  blossoms  bud  and  the  birdlings  sing. 

Minute  by  minute  his  thirst  grows  worse: 
Life  is  despair,  yet  death  a  curse, 


22O         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

A  curse  unending — that  leaves  no  hope ; — 
Where  the  soul  forever  must  grieve  and  grope, 
Grope  in  the  darkness  that — near  or  far — 
Shows  no  faint  gleam  of  a  rising  star. 
N-ever  a  glimpse  of  good  deeds  done 
Comes  like  the  glow  of  a  dawning  sun ; 
Never  a  heart-throb  from  his  youth, 
Never  a  gleam  of  Trust  or  Truth. 

Here  with  his  lean  and  grasping  hands 
Clutching  wildly  the  golden  sands, 
Here  with  his  thirsting  lips  burned  bare 
By  the  liquid  gold ; — in  his  dark  despair 
He  dies, — and  dying — finds  no  spell 
Save  curses  fresh  from  the  Heart  of  Hell; 
In  his  last  gasp — he  damns  great  Bel, 
And  the  Forty  lesser  Gods  as  well. 


Harold  Fairhair.  221 


fmrolfc  ffatrbafr! 

KING  Harold  Fairhair  lies  below 
The  Ocean's  sleepless  billows, 
Upon  a  breast  of  sunless  snow — 
His  weary  head  he  pillows; 
The  years  may  come,  the  years  may  go, 
But  still  the  King  lies  dreaming, 
Untouched  by  time's  unceasing  flow, 
The  same  in  outward  seeming. 

The  gold  yet  glitters  in  his  hair, 

His  ruddy  cheek  unfaded, 

Though  in  his  dreamy  eyes  a  stare — 

As  though  some  sorrow  shaded 

His  soul,  which  yet  at  times  would  strive 

To  break  the  spells  that  bind  him ; 

His  heart  beats  only  half  alive ; 

'Tis  thus  the  sea-nymphs  find  him. 

Yet,  though  they  sing  their  Siren  songs 
To  deafened  ears, — half  waking, 
At  times, — in  shadowy  dreams  he  longs 
For  some  Dawn's  sunburst  breaking; 


222         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

He  sees  afar  the  rocky  capes, 
And  hears  the  battle's  thunder; — 
A  thousand  fierce  and  flying  shapes 
Steal  to  the  caves  far  under, — 

And  whisper  of  the  world  above, — 

Its  riotings  and  roses : — 

He  dreams  again  of  earthly  love; — 

The  golden  gate  uncloses, 

And  to  his  caverned  couch  steals  in 

A  gleam  of  sunlight  shifting; 

Stirred  by  some  battle's  distant  din, 

His  mighty  sword  uplifting, 

He  rises ;  but  about  him  twist, — 

In  soft  and  snaky  ceilings, — 

White  arms,  and  pallid  lips  have  kissed 

Away  all  taste  for  toilings; 

He  dimly  sees  the  Water  Fay — 

Above  his  white  couch  bending, — 

Sinks   back;    soon   quenched   this   glimpse   of 

day,— 
In  deeper  darkness  ending. 


The  Blossom's  Boast.  223 


Blossom's  Boast ! 

AND  do  you  fancy, — says  the  Flower 

(In  such  soft  whispers  few  can  hear  her), 

That  we  are  blind  to  sun  and  shower? 

To  golden  days  when  Spring  draws  nearer, — 

And  winds  are  warm — and  skies  grow  clearer? 

Do  you  imagine  that  a  Rose 
Or  Lily — have  as  little  feeling 
As  Monster  Man,  who  laughing — sows 
The  World  with  woes: — Lies,  Murder,  Steal 
ing,— 
Dishonest  Thoughts — as  well  as  Dealing — ? 

In  your  conceit,  no  doubt  you  hold, — 
Having  counted  pistil — stamen — petal, — 
That  all  our  secrets  have  been  told, 
And  stand  upon  your  (mental)  mettle, 
To  prove  you  know  just  how  to  settle 

All  of  Dame  Nature's  outs  and  ins, 

And  ups  and  downs ;  her  inmost  meanings ; 

How  Matter  ends, — when  Life  begins; — 


224         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

What  are  Hope's  gifts,  and  what  Love's  glean 
ings 
From  Lust's  Augean  Stable's  cleanings. 

But  "  Flowers  "  know  that  Fools  are  silly 
Beyond  all  reach  of  floral  "  greenness  "  ; — 
Roses  "  blush  for  you,"  and  the  Lily 
Would  scorn  a  mortal  Monarch's  meanness 
As  typical  of  Man's  uncleanness. 

Hold  your  heads  high  and  trample  under 
Soiled  feet  the  Blossom's  fragile  grace! 
That  Brutes  are  brutal — is  no  wonder! — 
But  you — who  boast  of  higher  race — 
Shall  turn  to  dust  in  our  embrace! 

We  never  studied  Greek  or  Latin — 
We  build  no  churches — wage  no  wars; — 
But  on  your  "  Highnesses  "  we'll  fatten ; — 
And  whether  Soldier,  Saint  or  Sage 
We  whelm  you  under  age  after  age! 

'Then  go  and  count  your  pilfered  pelf, — 
Your  reddened  Swords  and  rusted  Crowns,. 
And  try  to  ask  your  "  better  self  " — 
,Whether  one  blossom  on  the  downs 
Is  not  worth  half  a  score  of  clowns ! 


The  Shabby  Genteel.  225 


tlbe  Sbabbs  (Benteelt 

MY  farm  is  more  rocky  than  rich, 
With  fields  of  precipitious  pitch; 
~No  harvests  of  gold  they  reveal 
To  rescue  the — Shabby  Genteel. 

My  cottage,  once  somewhat  ornate, 
Is — fifty  years  now  out  of  date, 
And  the  road  to  it  rattles  your  wheel 
Should  you  visit  the  Shabby  Genteel. 

My  carpets  and  curtains  look  worn, 
The  seat  of  the  sofa  is  torn, 
My  platter  is  tin,  and  my  fork  is  of  steel, 
For  I'm  one  of  the — Shabby  Genteel. 

My  dinner  is  not  like  the  Queen's, 
But  usually  bacon  and  beans ; 
"No  "  crusted  port  "  shall  I  unseal, 
For  I'm  one  of  the — Shabby  Genteel. 

My  coat  is  not  cut  in  good  style, 
'And  my  hat  is  a  battered  old  tile; 


226         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

In  fact  I  am  "  down  a,t  the  heel," 

For   half-souled   are  the — Shabby   Genteel. 

If  it  wasn't  for  Fashion  and  Fate, 
Luck  and  Love  might  yet  enter  my  gate, 
But  to  strive  is  as  hard  as  to  steal 
If  you're  one  of  the — Shabby  Genteel. 

The  pen  is  poor  pay,  and  the  plow 
I  could  never  well  handle  just  now, 
For  then  Fashion  surely  would  feel 
I'd  lost  caste — as  a — Shabby  Genteel. 

Somehow  I  must  keep  up  the  show 
Of  being  a  "  Squire  "  you  know, 
For  my  Grandfather  squandered  a  deal, 
Though  I — but  a — Shabby  Genteel. 

How  I  envy  a  Tramp  on  his  trips 
"Who  peacefully  pockets  his  "  tips," 
Or  the  Beggar  who  dances  a  reel 
At  the  "  wake  "  of  some  Shabby  Genteel 

Here  I  sit  by  a  cold  hearth  and  shun 
The  World — with  its  frolic  and  fun, 
Fearing  Fortune  some  day  might  reveai 
The  "  last  rag  " — of  the — Shabby  Gentee*. 


The  Shabby  Genteel.  227 

Not  the  navvy  who  handles  the  pick, 
Not  the  tramp  who  can  dodge  if  you  kick, 
Half  as  helpless  as  poor  fools  who  kneel 
At  the — Shrine  of  the  Shabby  Genteel. 


228         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


jfour  Tberalos  of  Spring, 

(From  the  German.} 

THOUGH  March  still  sang  a  crazy  tune. 

Tho'  April  filched  and  froze  it, 

Spring  surely  shall  not  wait  'til  June 

And  every  sparrow  knows  it. 

As  Heralds  fair  to  earth  and  air 

Spring  sends  four  Fairies  busy, 

Whose  pranks  and  jokes  make  even  the  oaks 

At  last  with  sun-draughts  dizzy. 

Our  firstling  Fairy  wields  a  brush 

In  most  artistic  fashion, 

He  makes  the  very  roses  blush 

When  painting  June's  ripe  passion; 

Yet  earlier  still  on  every  hill, 

In  every  dimpling  hollow, 

He  leaves  a  dash  of  greens  that  flash 

When  frolic  sunbeams  follow. 

An  Artist  he,  by  lassies  kissed, 
Tho'  less  by  lords  admired, 


The  Four  Heralds  of  Spring.      229 

Because  lie's  no  "  Impressionist," 

And  so  by  Fashion  "  fired  " ; 

But  mark  in  May  the  wondrous  way 

He  paints  you  leaf  and  flower ; 

One  violet  blue  to-day  peeps  through, — 

To-morrow — roses  shower. 

An  Architect  of  wide  renown 

Our  second  Sprite  or  Fairy, 

Tho'  less  he  haunts  the  busy  town 

Than  holts  and  highlands  airy ; 

He  seldom  strays  from  woodland  ways 

Where  lilies  lift  their  chalices, 

And  you  must  look  in  leafiest  nook 

To  find  his  rustic  palaces. 

All  birds  of  feathers  grave  or  gay 

Know  best  his  skill  in  building; 

His  rustic  grots  and  cozy  cots 

Are  graced  with  gray — not  gilding ; 

Here  linnets  house,  there  home  of  grouse, 

And  jorees  huts  and  hollows, 

And  last  he  weaves,  'neath  cottage  eaves. 

Clay  cabins  for  his  swallows. 

Our  third  good  Fairy,  Vocalist, 
Of  woodland  song  the  master; 


230         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Ere  sunbeams  chase  the  morning  mist 

His  scholars  learn  the  faster; 

To  thrush  and  throstle  this  Apostle 

Teacheth  a  saintly  song, 

And  "  chatterwit,"  with  wrens  that  flit, 

Shall  not  be  silent  long. 

This  music  master  wields  a  wand 

That  keeps  the  woods  in  tune 

From  April  mornings — pale  and  blond— 

To  the  blushing  days  of  June : 

On  winnowing  wings  the  blue  bird  sings, 

The  throstles  thrill  on  high, 

And  when  the  mower's  scythe-blade  swings, 

"  Bob  White  "  is  in  the  rye. 

But  the  last  and  fourth  of  these  Fairies  four, 

Is  a  queer — quaint — quizzical  elf, 

He  opens  the  windows  wide,  and  the  door;- 

Wastos  your  dollars  and  breaks  your  delf ; 

Undeterred  by  Doubt,  he  wanders  out, 

A  pilgrim  through  Lorey  Land; 

His  thirst  he  slakes  with  the  kisses  he  takes, 

And  builds  his  house  on  sand. 

Lo ! — the  last  of  these  Fairies — a  poet, 
A  lover  of  legend  and  lilt, 


The  Four  Heralds  of  Spring.     231 

A  troubadour  tramp,  and  all  know  it; 

Yet  though  ragged  his  cap  and  his  kilt, 

'Tis  this  frolicsome  fay — who  hath  lured  me 

to-day 

From  study — to  dabble  in  song: 
On  him  be  the  curse,  if  my  wandering  verse — 
Prove  either  too  learned  or  too  long. 


232         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


Ube  Gipsy's  6ues0, 

{From  the  German.} 

WITH  faltering  steps  a  maiden  goes 

By  hedge  of  thorn  and  eller, 

By  thickets  of  the  briar-rose, 

To  where  the  Fortune-teller, 

A  sylvan  Sibyl  of  the  woods, 

Deals  out  in  kind  her  gipsy  goods ; 

That  is — good  pay  shall  bring  good  luck, 

But  empty  hands  no  laurels  "  pluck." 

Here  Mother  Mazie,  gifts  I  bring, 
A  cockerel  and  a  pullet ; 
Two  lovers  daily  sigh  and  sing, 
And  ask  for  buss — or — bullet ; 
Each  wants  to  have,  of  course,  his  way, 
"Yet  I  might  give  them  both  but, — nay: 
A  printer  one  and  brags  on  brains, 
'The  other  boasts  his  goods  and  gains. 

'The  Gipsy  muttered  low  and  long, 

.Was  puzzling — if  prophetic: 

Laid  down  the  cards,  both  weak  and  strong^ 


The  Gipsy's  Guess.  233 

With  gestures  half  pathetic ; 
This  Queen  of  hearts  is  you,  my  lass, 
And  here's  a  Spade,  but  let  that  pass, 
And  here's  the  King  of  Diamonds  gay, 
But  then  if  not  quite  bald — he's  gray. 

And  here's  a  Knave,  the  Knave  of  Clubs, 
Not  yet  too  old  for  fooling, 
Tho'  you  will  sometimes  find  these  cubs, 
In  need  of  steady  schooling; 
Lo!  here  is  one  we've  never  seen, 
He  comes  as  Huntsman  clad  in  green : 
How  chanced  it,  lassie,  of  this  third 
You  never  even  spoke  a  word  ? 

Ah,  yes ;  you  whisper  shyly — Hush ! 
The  third  was  half  forgotten  maybe, 
But  if  he  ever  saw  you  blush, 
And  failed  to  take  a  hint,  the  gaby 
Could  never  grumble  should  he  lose 
What  many  a  lad  would  gladly  choose. 
Your  silence,  Maiden,  is  the  seal, 
Of  hopes  you  never  spoke,  but — feel. 


234         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


Dase  anfc  tbe  IDirtuoso ! 

IN  these  dull  and  degenerate  days 
Is  there  no  real  esthetic  Craze? 
Must  Art  importune  to  get  a  fortune 
In  exchange  for  a — Peach-blow  Vase? 

Who  would  quarrel  about  the  price 

Of  a — Pitcher  from  Paradise  * 

Would  a  Gold-bug  stint  the  best  of  his  mint, 

And  regret  an  art  Critic's  advice? 

This  is  no  jug-handled  affair, 
But  a  charming  chance  "  on  the  square  " ; 
And  even  in  China  you'll  find  no  finer 
Piece  of  precious  old  pottery  ware. 

'Tis  made  of  uncommon  clay, 

In  a  very  uncommon  way, 

And  by  some  mysterious  method  (I'm  serious) 

The  color  is  gold  of  Kathay. 

Tour  shoulders,  sir,  you  may  shrug, 

And  call  it  a  "  Jolly  old  Jug,"- 

An  old  painted  pitcher — just  fit  for  a  ditcher, 

Or  a  flagon  for  tipplers  to  hug. 


The  Gipsy's  Guess.  235 

(Slit  what  do  you  know  of — Design, 

Of  the  Infinite  curve  and  the  Line? 

Of  Kuskinian  hints — and  Turnerian  tints, — 

And  the  arts  that  are  Deep  and  Divine  ? 

With  a  little  twelve  inch  rule, 

Do  you  fancy  that  any  fool 

Who  has  the  leisure — can  fathom  and  measure 

The  Artistic  Esthetic  School  ? 

You  are  only  a  mud-made  man, 

With  a  soul  on  the  skimpiest  plan ; 

With  none  of  the  aerial — esthetic — etherial — 

Elixir  in  your  little  "  tin  can." 

You  may  open  your  eyes  with  amaze, 
Ridicule  our  Japanese  Craze, 
Laugh  at  our  pottery,  call  it  a  Lottery; — 
But  what  would  you  say  if  it  pays  ? 

After  all  the  true  worth  of  a  Thing, 

Is  exactly  the  Price  it  will  bring; 

That  is  the  gist  of  it — wisdom  and  wit  of  it ; — 

You  may  say  what  you  choose ;— Cash  is  King! 


236         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


Gbrfstmas  Bf ter  Mar  I 

How  shall  we  greet  you  this  Christmas,  Saint 

Nick? 
With  clamor  of  "  crackers "   and  feasting  of 

pies? 

Shall  we  surfeit  on  egg-nog  until  we  grow  sick, 
And  forget,  for  a  time — that  we're  weary  and 

wise? 

Shall  we  make — like  the  Russians — a  rushin' 

advance 
On  "  Turkey," — whose  "  merry  thought  "  often 

predicts 

That  even  the  ugliest  girls  have  a  chance, 
And  Bachelors  gay  may  become  Benedicts? 

Shall  stockings  be  filled  to  the  garter  with  gifts 
For  the  "  legions  "  of  chubby-cheeked  "  infan- 

trj,"— say? 
Shall  we  find  under  cover  of  Winter's  white 

drifts 
The  joys  that  make  even  the  saddest  hearts  gay  ? 

Shall  the  Ledger  be  laid,  with  gaunt  Care,  on 
the  shelf,. 


Christmas  After  War.  237 

And  the  "  Imp  of  the  Inkstand  "  take  rest  for 

a  while? 
Shall  we  turn  for  a  moment  from  profit  and 

pelf, 
And  invest,  just  for  change,  in  the  wealth,  of  a 

smile  ? 

Shall  the  "  Ule-log "  be  lit  on  the  hearth,  as 

of  old, 
While  the  "  mistletoe  "  shadows  discreetly  kind 

lips? 

Shall  diffident  lovers  grow  suddenly  bold 
As  they  squeeze  "  lady-fingers  " — just  iced  at 

the  tips  ? 

Shall  we  bury  old  strifes  in  the  grave  of  the 

year 

Whose  life  is  so  rapidly  ebbing  away? 
Shall  the  shadows  of  Sorrow  now  suddenly  clear, 
And  the  sunshine  of  Hope  gild  this  glorious 

day? 

Shall  we  gladden  the  "  Eagged  "  with  generous 

alms, 
Shall  we  cheer  the  sad-hearted  with  smiles  and 

with  songs? 


238         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Shall    ever-green    hollies    wreathe    ever-green 

palms, 
And  Hope  bear  the  half  of  our  troubles  and 

wrongs  ? 

In  a  word : — Shall  the  Dawn  of  this  Sanctified 

Day 

Bring  peace  upon  earth  and  good-will  unto  all  ? 
If  so — gray  December  shall  rival  green  H.ay, 
In  spite  of  the  flakes  and  the  flowers  that  fall. 

Let  us  turn  from  the  battle-scathed  wastes  of 

the  Past, 
Trusting  still  that,   somewhere  in  the  Desert 

ahead, 

There  lies  an  Oasis,  where  we  at  the  last 
Shall  again  find  the  blooms  of  the  Springs  that 

are  dead. 


The  Sea's  Smiles  and  Sighs.       239 


Ube  Sea's  Smiles  anfc 

WE  walked  together  side  by  side 
Along  the  margin  of  the  sea ; 
We  heard  the  rippling  of  the  tide 
That  spoke  to  her,  and  spoke  to  me. 

To  her  it  lisped  in  lapsing  waves 
That  kissed  the  imprint  of  her  feet: — 
"  Fair  lady,  we  are  willing  slaves, 
And  gladly  bear  your  freighted  fleet 
Of  hopes  and  fancies  to  the  strand 
Of  laughing  Love's  fair  Eden  Land." 

To  me  it  spoke  in  monotones, 

Hollow  and  sad  as  dirges  are ; 

Souls  wrecked  and  hopeless — made  low  moans 

Where  the  blue  sea's  sad  verges  are. 

To  me  its  surges  seemed  to  sigh, 
As  though  from  caverns  gray  and  grim 
I  heard  the  wailing  half-choked  cry, 
Of  some  sad  soul  whelmed  in  the  dim 
Deeps  under,  where  the  shark  is  hid 


240         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

Like  some  sea  tiger  in  his  lair; 

And  with  his  undulous  arms  the  squid 

Coils  like  a  knot  of  serpents,  where 

The  coral  cavern  yawns  below, 

And  darkening  depths  of  purple  night, 

Where  phosphorescent  phantoms  glow, — 

Hold  shuddering  shadows  that  affright 

The  senses.     Hark!  in  thunders  loud — 

The  Storm  King  calls,  and  sea-maids  stitch 

For  me  a  winding  sheet  and  shroud. 

They  beckon,  and  behold — a  niche 
Shaped  coffin-wise  in  darkness  gapes 
Between  two  shadow-shrouded  capes 
Of  fretted  rock;  and  lo! — I  leap, — 
A  lost  soul  hurled  from  deep  to  deep : — 
And  she,  who  watched  me  from  the  strand, 
Stretched  out,  alas,  no  helping  hand ! 


The  Tempest's  Test.  241 


Ube  tempest's  Uc0t. 

I  LOVE  the  gloom  of  sunless  skies 
Where  not  one  glimpse  of  Heaven's  blue  eyes 
Foretell  Love's  benediction ; 
Through  shifting  shadows  dark  and  dim — 
When  all  the  world  seems  gray  and  grim — 
'Tis  then  that  stern  conviction, 
Unlured  by  Fancy's  frolic  course, 
Finds  time  to  gather  faith  and  force ; 
Unsiren'd  by  Hope's  silvery  song, 
Measures  the  depths  of  Right  and  Wrong. 
When  skies  are  clear  and  sunbeams  sift 
Down  Life's  wide  stream — we  aimless  drift, 
But — when  the  waves  would  overwhelm, — 
First  the  true  Pilot  finds  the  helm. 


242         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


Swallow's  Best!" 

FROM  Neckarsteinach  down  we  glide — 
With  wooded  slopes  on  either  side ; 
Above,  upon  the  ruddy  crags, 
Old  castles  wave  their  ivied  flags. 

For  wisdom  who  would  give  a  groat  ? 
Our  hearts  are  light,  and  here  we  float 
With  clouds  beneath  us  and  above, 
Dreaming  our  April  dream  of  love. 

Her  hands  touched  mine,  our  young  hearts  beat, 
Soft  eyes,  and  then  sweet  lips,  may  meet ; 
She  blushes  rosily,  then  sighs : 
Ah,  youth  is  happy — if  not  wise. 

Soft  floating  down  the  ISTeckar's  stream, 
Of  Love's  bright  Eden-land  we  dream ; — 
What  need  of  words,  when  kisses  tell 
The  secrets  we  have  learned  so  well  ? 

Rough  is  our  boatman,  old  and  gray, 
Yet  watching  in  a  stolid  way 
Love's  pranks,  despite  dull  heart  and  wit, 
Perhaps  he  sees  the  gist  of  it. 


The  Swallow's  Rest.  243 

"  Young  blood  is  hot/7  our  boatman  said, 
Whereat  the  maiden  turned  her  head 
And  pouted — just  enough  to  show 
She  understood  how  that  was  so. 

Ah  me !  can  I  be  still  the  same 
In  heart  and  soul — in  flesh  and  frame — 
With  that  fond  youth  who  half  confessed 
His  passion  at  the  "  Shallow's  nest"  ? 

Alas,  in  death's  eternal  calm 
She  sleeps  beneath  some  Indian  palm ; 
And  I,  involved  in  life's  cold  schemes, 
Dare  scarce  recall  Love's  earlier  dreams. 

Though  now  .life's  flowers  fading  fast, — 
What  help — to  mourn  the  buried  past  ? 
Red  lipsi  may  kiss,  white  arms  enfold, 
But  new  loves  cannot  match  the  old. 


244         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 


TTbe  IRew  Worlfc. 

(Not  discovered  by  Columbus  &  Co.) 

I  STAND  on  the  Mountain's  summit, 

And  Science  and  Art  combine, 

With  my  pencil  and  my  plummet, 

To  sketch  you  a  novel  design 

Of  a  world  without  affectation ; 

Where  "  sunflowers  "  never  could  grow, 

Where  tints  are  not  all  Turnerian, 

~NoT  landscapes  all  Corot ; — 

Where  Diaz  is  not  dazzling 

The  dunces  with  blot  and  blur, 

And  where  "  Arrangements  "  in  "  Black  and 

Yellow  " 

Don't  so  frequently  occur; — 
Where  a  Whistler  in  vain  might  whistle 
For  a  crazy  canvas  sold, 
Where  a  Wylde  but  finds  a  thistle — 
Instead  of  a  cabbage  in  Gold ; — 
Where  Nature  is  sometimes  natural, 
Where  Love  is  not  always  Despair ; — 
Where  the  Prince  and  Plutocrat  don't  always 


The  New  World.  245 

Get  more  than  the  "  Lion's  share  " 
Of  the  profits  and  pleasures  of  Life, 
Whilst  below — in  the  sewers  and  slums — 
The  horny-handed  laboring  man 
Is  starving  on  kicks  and  crumbs. 

A  world  where  they  don't  dance  "  germans," 
Where  broadcloth  is  not  better  than  brain; 
Where  though   children  may   dabble  in   dirt- 
pies, — 

Dirt-daubers  just  catch  the  cane; 
A  world  with  no  Politicians, — 
~No  Party  save  the  Party  of  Right ; 
Where  Law  doesn't  laugh  at  Equity, 
And  where  Justice  is  stronger  than  Might; 
Where  Success  is  not  always  the  only  test 
Of  merit  for  Person  or  Purse ; 
Where  the  Thief  of  a  Million  no  better  is 
Than  a  Thief  of  a  thousand,  but  worse ; 
Where  the  Rebel  who  wins  is  not  greater, 
And  the  Rebel  who  loses  not  less; 
Where  Manhood  is  not  merely  Muscle, 
And  Beauty  is  not  all  Dress ; 
Where  the  Bullies  of  Battles  are  but  Butchers, 
And  Greatness  not  measured  by — Gains ; 
Where  Thorns  do  not  fret  Passion's  Roses, 


246         Songs  of  the  Sahkohnagas. 

]STor  Purity's  Lily  show  stains; 

Where  whatever  the  Game  we  are  playing 

We  must  win  by  "  Honors  " — not  "  Tricks  " 

(Though  I  fear  such  a  world  is  divided 

From  ours  by  the  river  called  Styx)  : — 

In  a  word  an  Eden  "  re-constructed  " 

Where  no  merciless  Father  doth  tempt 

His  own  children ;  from  serpents  forbidding 

And  Fruitage  forbidden — exempt. 

Yet  in  spite  of  its  manifold  merits 

(And  they  are  doubtless  all  tested  and  true) 

The  Sinner — who  sin  inherits — 

Prefers  probably  the  "  Old  "  to  the  "  New," 

And  would  much  rather  take  his  chances 

With  the  Devil  he's  known  from  his  birth, 

Than  to  risk  his  Fun  and  Finance' 

With  a  God — too  fine  for  Earth. 


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